Resurface
by Saddened Soul
Summary: John Mandrake was assumed dead after the Demon Revolt, but Gladstone's Staff did something else, and Nathaniel finds himself sprung through a hole in time to a very distant, but not forgotten, past.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: Grr, I can't restrain myself, because I know I should be updating _Muffins and Cookies_, eh, whatever. DISCLAIMER: I do not own _The Bartimaeus Trilogy_, nor do I make any profit from this story. Be aware this has SPOILERS for the third book.**

_Resurface_

_Chapter One_

For the most part, Nathaniel was sure he was dead. He had to be. At the instant he unleashed the Staff's power Nouda had attempted to attack him, so he was either obliterated, or slaughtered. It did not matter which, though, since it was over. He had dismissed Bartimaeus, and he was sure Kitty was safe, so, with no regrets, he let himself dissolve into the murky white... Wait. _One_ thought still lingered. The Other Place... he would have liked to have gone. That endless void of chaos would surely be more peaceful than Earth, and that is what he needed the most right now: some peace and quiet... Who knows? He could become a part of it and never know. So, with the thought eased, he slipped back...

...and opened his eyes to the sky. It was not a clear, blue sky like he would have preferred, but instead a dreary, gray space. He was used to it, _too_ used to it. He wanted a change. If this was the afterlife, he was not impressed with it. He could feel his senses returning, not all at once, but one by one. After his sight, his smell, then his taste, followed by his feel. And, finally, his hearing. Nathaniel felt the urge to stand, but he fought it down. He felt too _alive_, when he was not meant to, or maybe he was supposed to. Maybe you retained some sort of earthly feeling in the afterlife, but he would not possibly know. A felt something walk nearby, and he realized he was laying on grass. Grass. He did not want _grass_. He wanted clouds, or lava, or something more than just grass! Nathaniel would be extremely furious if he was stuck with grass for all of eternity. Or maybe he was expecting too much.

Then, a figure bent over him. He blinked, his hair matted to his forehead in perspiration. This was proof that he was dead. Arthur Underwood, his former mentor, was standing above him, staring down at him in something like shock. "Who-Who _are you_?" he demanded. Nathaniel narrowed his brow, his voice lost in exhaustion.

"Natha... Jo...hn..." he tried to say, but his lips and tongue were dry. Not even he could make out the words that came from his throat. Underwood coughed.

"Martha!" he called, turning to the door of the house. Nathaniel bent his head to the right, squinting at the building as the door opened. The Underwood's home, still standing. There were no signs of a fire, or anything for that matter. An awkward joy aroused within him. He held Arthur Underwood in disdain, but perhaps Mrs. Underwood was still alive. Nathaniel had never forgotten her; she was the closest thing to a mother he ever had. The entrance door of the home opened, and there in the doorway stood Mrs. Underwood herself. Nathaniel attempted a smile, but all he succeeded in was causing an ache to spread throughout his face. He felt reassurance in seeing her here, that the afterlife may not be so bad.

"Arthur, what-," She gasped in fright, rushing fown the steps to the center of the lawn. Nathaniel looked up at her, and his head felt stiff. "Dear, God, Arthur!" she exclaimed. "Who is this man? Look at the state he's in! I-,"

"Clear off the sofa and get any bandages we may have! Hurry now! You... up with you, _come on_!" Underwood bent over and pulled the wounded magician up. He felt ragged and limp, like an abused doll would. The older man slung his arm around his neck and helped him into the household, hurriedly depositing him on a sofa. Nathaniel groaned. Already Mrs. Underwood laid him down entirely and lifted up his torn coat and shirt. She busily began tending to the wound, while Mr. Underwood stood off to the side. Nathaniel's head fell heavy onto the cushions. His eyes were cold from an outside perspective, but he watched it all unfold, although he lacked the strength to position his head how he wanted.

"Arthur, could bring me the alcohol?" said Mrs. Underwood hastily. As the man departed into the kitchen to fetch some, he was soon replaced by a boy. A twelve year-old. His clothes were somewhat loose-fitting.

"Out of the way boy, _move_," commanded Underwood as he returned with the item, shrugging the boy away. Nathaniel stared at him with tired eyes, his mind swirling in confusion.

---

"...You're too kind," said Nathaniel as he took the small cup of tea from the woman. Several hours had passed, most of which he spent sleeping, but some he spent lying there, staring up at the ceiling. He could not help but feel just slightly cozy within the house. However, he would be lieing if he said he was not shocked. He was alive. He figured it while on that sofa, his body slowly recovering from the multitude of wounds he had acquired while liberating London from the demons. If that was London, where was he now? He pondered this for some time there, but he felt the time for that would come soon enough.

For now, he had to contend with adapting to his surroundings. "How does it taste?" asked Mrs. Underwood eagerly. "Go on now, drink some more."

He sipped some, letting the warm liquid seep down his dry throat and wet his vocal cords. He looked at the woman with a small smile. "It's just perfect, ma'am." And indeed it was, to him. Drinking that tea was like diving back into his childhood, back into what he had believed he had abandoned. It had been his fault, in all entirety, that the Underwoods had perished and their home turned to ash. He was being forced to relive that time as he sat there. Mr. Underwood walked into the room, eyeing his guest with curiosity. He took a seat on a rather comfortable chair, leaning forward with his chin resting on his hands. Nathaniel met his gaze, bracing himself for the inevitable interrogation.

"I must inform you that I am a member of the British government, so, if I were you, I would remain quiet and answer when spoken to only. You are my guest, of course, but until I am certain of your identity, I will not take risks. Do you understand?"

Nathaniel nodded, taking another sip of the tea. He placed the cup atop the coffee table. "What is your name?" Nathaniel stared at him cooly.

"John Mandrake," he answered a tad reluctantly. Underwood seemed to overlook this.

"Your age?"

"Seventeen," was the casual reply. This made Underwood stroke his chin in thought, but he cleared his throat and let it drop.

"Well, Mr. Mandrake, how did you end up on our lawn? And your wound... how did you get it?" At these two questions, Mandrake cringed. He had no clue regarding the first one, and the second was pretty unbeliavable. 'An all-powerful demon landed a lucky blow on my while I was engaged in mortal combat with it'. He had to conjure up some response.

"...I do not recall, sir," he finally replied. "It is all something of a blur. I am dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience." Underwood merely nodded.

"You were in horrid condition, I am even sure you are still in discomfort. Very well, Mr. Mandrake, considering you seem to be in a bit of a daze, I shall permit you stay in my home. If necessary I will also allow you to borrow my clothing, until you have had the time to purchase some of your own. As for your room..." He looked to his wife, who was, and had been, busy tidying the room up as they spoke. "That room in the back isn't trashed yet, is it?"

"No, no," said Mrs. Underwood, "it's suitable, but I'll be sure to clean it up. You wouldn't happen to be hungry, would you, John?" The young magician picked his tea up.

"In fact, I am." Mandrake did feel empty, and it had awhile since he had last eaten. His last meal had been his breakfast the day he had assigned his djinn to find Clem Hopkins. But that seemed like so long ago now, and the most he could do now was play it by ear. Until he understood what was going on, he had little choice. Standing to his feet weakly, he clenched his fists, trying to get a sense of his body again. Mr. Underwood stood also, starting towards the hallway.

"If you need me, I shall be in my office," he announced, and departed. Mrs. Underwood beckoned Mandrake to the kitchen.

"Come, please, you are the guest. Yes, bring your tea."

As he stepped into the kitchen, John Mandrake was greeted by another wave of memories. They were fonder than others, as he would converse with Mrs. Underwood on a variety of subjects. He would contently bite into his toast, take a swig of milk or orange juice, and then allow his mind to wander... Mrs. Underwood had tried, on several ocassions, to teach him how to bake and cook, but he never exactly got the hang of it. Not that he really had to cook in the years that followed Lovelace's rebellion. Magicians did not cook; that was left to the commoners. Mandrake shook his head sadly. The magicians were so distraught that they saw cooking as a waste of time. He really would have liked to learn.

Mrs. Underwood nudged the plate of toast toward him, and he took it with some effort. She frowned slightly. "I'm sorry if it seems paltry; it's still early, and I had some left."

Mandrake grinned at the toast. "No, actually, I felt like toast... do you mind if I stand?"

"Oh not at all-just don't let any crumbs fall."

The magician nodded, biting into the toast eagerly. He savored the taste as much as he could. The toast he usually had nowadays was not made with such talent, such... _feeling_. He would take a home-cooked meal any day. He wondered, if his life became "normal", how he would learn to cook. Mandrake supposed someone would teach him, maybe his wife. Ha, Bartimaeus would have scoffed at the notion. A non-magician, obviously, but the idea itself was a remote one. He was still too young to be thinking about a wife, but maybe...

"You two look alike, now that I think about it," stated Mrs. Underwood, dragging Mandrake from his thoughts. She was studying him carefully as he rubbed his thumb and index finger together, trying to rid his fingers of the specks of bread. "Are you positive you remember nothing," John?"

"...Not at the moment, no. Why do you ask?"

"It's because you look so similar to Nathaniel, my husband's apprentice. Your hair is the same color, and your eyes have that same intensity. To be honest, you could be his future image."

John Mandrake gulped down the rest of the piece of toast. She always _had_ told him he would be a handsome young man, but he had never really given it any thought. He had to tread carefully, for he still was not sure where he was. He was at the Underwoods' home, and it really appeared like he was in the _past._ The past. If he was in the past, so many things could be righted that would be wronged, but if he interfered... would it affect _his_ time? And how was he going to get back?

"...This Nathaniel, could I speak to him?"

"Hmm, I don't see why not. Actually, I think he'd benefit from talking with someone as close to his age as you are. Nathaniel's had virtually no friends, and I'm sure he feels rather lonely, regardless."

Mandrake took a bite from his toast. "Just show me to his room."

---

Nathaniel closed the book and turned from his seat on his bed to the knock on his bedroom door. "Come in," he said, and John Mandrake walked inside, closing the door behind him before Nathaniel could even mention it. The boy sighed. "Yes?"

Mandrake shrugged. "I thought I would get to know the last occupant of this household." He extended his hand. "John Mandrake." His past self shook it without any thought at all.

"My name's Nathaniel," he informed him, "or did Mrs. Underwood tell you already? Never mind, it's fine."

The magician looked around the room, sighing himself. How long ago had he been here? This was where he had first met Bartimaeus, gotten himself involved in matters far beyond his control. He wondered briefly if this Nathaniel was planning to summon the djinni; most likely he was. The boy looked up at him suddenly, an idea having formed in his mind. "Mr. Mandrake, have you been to Parliament?" He was taken aback somewhat by the question, but his answer came swiftly.

"...I have. Mind you, it turned out to be different than what I'd expected." Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, when I was around your age, I thought that the government was perfect. I thought that by joining it I'd be respected, lead a satisfying career and life. I was wrong, although I met some people during my time there that I am glad I met." He searched Nathaniel's face; the boy's expression was stony. "I guess you're a bit too young to understand... When do you have your lesson?"

"Another hour."

"Ah." John Mandrake moved to the door to leave. Nathaniel grew pale. "Uh, Mr. Mandrake... If you really are going to stay here, could you come to my room this evening? I'd like your opinion on something." Mandrake glanced at Nathaniel.

"I'd be glad to, but if you excuse me, I feel like taking a walk."

**A/N: Did anyone feel the chapter a little abrupt? Well, anyways, the ending of _Ptomely's Gate_ kind of set me off wrong, so I decided to expand upon it like this; Nathaniel gets a chance to see things in a new light, and while it is a Nathaniel fic, Bartimaeus WILL be appearing. Anyways, I don't think it's too difficult to assume what happened.**


	2. Chapter Two

_Resurface_

_Chapter Two_

The wind bit at his face, teasing him with occassional bursts of cool air. It was a chilly day in London, and Mandrake despised it for all that it was worth. His entire life he had been holed up here, desperately trying to improve a nation that was already on its knees. All it took was a little push, and the Americans would have done it eventually; the demons just quickened the pace up a bit. He walked along the pavement with a limp, and each step stung him. He had experienced worse pain in his life, though.

What surprised him, however, was his overall calmness. Perhaps it came from not being certain what was happening. He gathered that he was not dead, but this hardly comforted him. It just meant another problem was upon him, and he was forced to resolve it. And this time he was alone, in a place where circumstances were very different. There was no overly sarcastic djinn to assist him, no commoner girl to save his life... he was most certainly alone. But the question was, how did he get here? It was the London of his apprentice days, still a great, shining city. He supposed Gladstone's Staff had done _something_, but what? And if it was what made this happen, he assumed he could redo it, but with the Staff gone, how could he work that?

He passed by a concrete wall during his walk, stopping upon glancing at a flyer that was plastered against it. It was decorated with a plethora of colors, and there were numerous copies of it scattered throughout London. Instantly Mandrake growled. It advertised _The Swans of Araby_, Quentin Makepeace's most recent play-at least, in this place. The magician ripped it down, crumpling it into a ball. Makepeace! No doubt he, Lovelace, Hopkins, and the rest of them were plotting their clever little rebellion. First they would summon Ramuthra, and if that failed they would have Duvall have a golem rampage through the city. And, finally, their master plan would be initiated: accepting a djinn into each of their bodies. Mandrake knew how that turned out. Unless you and the djinni could work in harmony--or something at least similar--then it would be a disaster. Controlling the entity is impossible, and if the djinni has devious intentions...

The British empire had been toppled over. Mandrake snorted. Serves them right. He recalled how his tutors described magicians as "noble". _Noble_. Magicians were everything but noble. They constantly tried to undermind each other, gain wealth and power, tear others down for their own gain... John Mandrake crushed the paper in his fist. He was ashamed, really, to be called "noble" when, for a time, he was exactly like the others. Sighing, he threw the crumpled flyer down, letting the wind sweep it up and go off with it.

As he watched it float away, the sounds of an explosion rang through his ears. Turning his head to see where it had come from, he started in that direction. It was far off, not very powerful, but not very close either. No doubt the Night Police would be there soon. Grunting, Mandrake went off to it.

---

"What are you two doing? Keep running!" exclaimed the girl loudly at her two companions. The shorter of the two sported a smirk and chuckled. This frustrated the girl even more, but this did not affect him.

"Chill, Kitty," he said, glancing around them. "We lost 'em back there anyway with that elemental sphere, so there's no reason to worry. We're safe 'round here. Can't we just collect our bearings?" He gave her a pleading look, but she stamped herfoot against the ground. They were talking too loudly in this alleyway, and time was being wasted. The Night Police could have easily trapped them there. Brushing some hair back she scowled at the boy.

"Honestly, Stan, keep your voice down! And no, we can't "collect our bearings". We shouldn't have even done that in the first place! It was totally unauthorized!" Upon saying this she jerked a thumb at the tall boy, who was holding a various array of items in his arms. "Mr. Pennyfeather's going to have our heads once he finds out about this."

Stan only laughed, enraging the girl called Kitty further. "It was Fred's idea in the first place." Seeing that she was still flustered, he sighed. "Okay, okay, I guess it was a _little_ uncalled for, but all those objects were just _so_ appealing!" Kitty rolled her eyes.

"Stan, we can't be drawing attention to ourselves like that! Just because you like some stuff doesn't mean you can nick when you want to! If we get caught, no doubt we'll be ripped to shreds by those stupid dogs! Now, come on, let's-," She stopped abruptly, turning around to see another person standing in the alleyway. He was a young man, perhaps seventeen or so. He was pale, and was eyeing them with calculating eyes. Frankly, she thought he was a tad handsome, but at the moment a thought like that was hardly appropriate, so she banished it and met his gaze.

"The Resistance... thought so," he said, almost to himself. "Forgot that I was _here_, for a second..."

"Hey, get out of our way!" Hearing the cry, the young man shook his head and looked towards them. The tall boy was already fetching a sparking, light blue sphere from the array of things in his arms. Kitty struck an arm out to stop him, though.

"Fred, wait a minute!" Despit being hesitant to follow the order, he dropped the sphere back into his arms. The girl narrowed her brow at this person. "How do you know who we are? You're at our mercy, so answer us, _quickly_!" She had become slightly accustomed to threatening people in her time as part of the Resistance. It was a necessary ability, but even with this warning the man shrugged. In fact, he did not give an answer for some moments, instead staring right at her, as if studying her face. This creeped her out somewhat.

"Stop-_Stop staring at me like that_!" she snapped. He blinked.

"Oh-sorry about that," he responded. "You just look similar to a person I knew before."

"Be quiet!" Kitty watched Fred out of the corner of her eye, his hand rubbing over the sphere. Stan shuffled closer and whispered, "Why can't we just, you know, blow our way through him and get out of here?"

"We're not murderers, Stan!" she whispered back. It would have been a much easier solution though, albeit a hasty one. Fortunately, the young man spoke.

"I'm not here to arrest you, if that's what you're thinking."

Kitty sighed. "Then why are you in our way? What business do you have with us?" She was growing ever so annoyed with this young man. They had to get out of the open, not be stuck in a meaningless conversation with some random person.

"Technically nothing," he said, folding his arms. "If anything, I'm just a bit curious as to why you just committed that theft." His tone was in a monotone, almost bored.

"That's what I'd like to know too," replied Kitty, flashing looks at both Stan and Fred, "Look, we don't have time to be talking with you, so-,"

"I mean, it's not going to accomplish anything significant." He said this, ignoring what she had told him just moments before. Having heard that, the three of them glared at him, Kitty grounding her teeth.

"You're wrong," she stated, clenching her fists. "Of course it's going to accomplish something! _It has to_!" The nerve of this man to say that! It was not like he had any idea what they were trying to do, nor had he any idea about what they were _feeling_. He stared at each of them, frowning.

"Think about it, then; you're trying to defeat one of the strongest empires in the world. And you're only a group of, what, five? Stealing and destroying property won't do any good, and soon enough you'll find yourselves caught." He paused, thinking over what he said. Feeling satisfied, he continued. "There are other ways to go about it," he said softly. "You're all risking your lives this way, and it's barely effective."

For some reason these words struck Kitty in a peculiar way. She was angry, but there was some reason in there, hidden. It made sense. A few thefts here and there would not make a difference. They would have to strike higher, find another way. "Kitty-," Stan began, but she waved a hand for him to stop. The young man watched them.

"...What's your name?" she asked, never taking her eyes off of him for a second. He looked upward, pondering something. It was just a name. Not too big of a deal, in her opinion.

"...Mandrake," he answered at last, "John Mandrake." It sounded like he said this distastefully, not very content with it at all. _Mandrake_. It had a familar ring to it, but she knew she had never heard of it before. Fred groaned. Stan fidgeted. Their time was up. Mandrake seemed to notice this too. "Terribly sorry for wasting your time, Ms. Jones. I should be on my way as well." He turned to leave, disappearing into the city before Kitty could say another word.

---

Nathaniel chewed on his sandwich, looking at nothing in particular as Mrs. Underwood set his tea at the table. He swallowed, glancing up at her. "Are you sure it's alright to have him here? How do you know he can be trusted?" The boy felt strange asking these questions--he felt attached to John Mandrake in some way, even without having met him before--, but he was curious as to why the Underwoods had been so welcoming to the man. Martha Underwood shrugged.

"The poor lad's obviously been through quite a lot, Nathaniel. We may not know him at all, but it's practically our duty to help those who need it. John can't even recall what happened, and he's in no condition to go out on his own."

"I understand that," said Nathaniel, "it's just... there's something about him." He watched her tidy up some of the dishes, nodding at his words.

"Yes, I know. It feels like I've known him my entire life, but I know I've never set eyes on him. Have you two spoken to each other, by the way?"

"We have. Seems nice enough..." Nathaniel took a quick swig of his tea before asking, "Do you know if he's a magician?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know, Nathaniel. Arthur didn't ask him, in fact, I hadn't a thought about it. Maybe when he returns you can ask him yourself," she suggested, glancing at him from over her shoulder. He bit into his sandwich when the door opened. Mrs. Underwood shut the faucet off, smiling as Mandrake walked in. He nodded at them both.

"Are you hungry, John? I can whip up something-,"

"No, no, no, that's not necessary. I'm fine. I'd like to retreat to my quarters for a bit, actually," he said clearing his throat. Mrs. Underwood just adopted a bigger smile. "Alright, Nathaniel will show you there. If he's done with his food, of course." The boy scooted out from his seat without a word, motioning for Mandrake to follow him. He looked instead at the plate of food, noting the half sandwich that still remained. Mrs. Underwood took the plate up. "Be off with you, John, I'll take care of this." He bowed his head and walked after nathaniel, who had waited for him.

Mandrake was taken to a room on the third floor of the household, a small yet cozy guest room that had previously been used for storage. Several boxes and parchments still lingered here and there, but a fairly large bed was present beside the wall, with a drawer nearby and desk nearby. The walls were painted a lime-green, and were thinning. The ceiling fan was operating effeciently, although damaged. Inside the closet were some unused articles of clothing, and a mirror, cracking in one corner, lay against a wall. He failed to remember this room, having never entered it before. At least, he did not think so.

Nathaniel turned to leave, but Mandrake stopped him. "Wait," he said, "didn't you wish to speak to me about something?" He had an idea of what it was about--a djinni, perhaps--, but Nathaniel shook his head.

"No, I changed my mind about it. It's late, anyway; you should get some rest, I suppose." He then left, closing the door behind him rather forcefully. Mandrake stared at it for some time before sitting down upon the surface of the bed. It was uncomfortable to him--full of springs--but then again he was used to higher quality mattresses. Only the best.

Lying on his back, he resumed staring at the ceiling. The fan spun constantly, and he let his hands intertwine on his abdomen. A day was gone. A day in this alien place. He sighed. He doubted that a library would assist him at all. No-he had to speak with someone who had some idea about it. A djinni, perhaps; he spotted on the desk a piece of paper. It could be used to jot something down. He told himself to remember that for future reference. But, for now, he had to think, and he decided on one thing.

He had to speak to Bartimaeus.


	3. Chapter Three

_Resurface_

_Chapter Three_

For the next few days John Mandrake spent most of his time sleeping in his room. The fan was on almost always, the room being very musty and humid. When he was not sleeping, he contended himself with writing. There was an earnest amount of parchment on the desk, so he worried not about running out. He doubted Underwood would just give him paper as if it was infinite.

The lights were dimmed, and with the fan on shadows spun around him in a dance. His eyes bore into the paper, focusing on a single word. _Hotheaded. _It certainly described her in a sense, but it was not the word he was looking for. No, more like 'ill-tempered'. Smiling slightly at this, he scratched the word out and wrote the new one in its wake. And then he frowned. Would she appreciate the scratch-out? He doubted that.

More and more Mandrake found the girl popping into his mind, throwing off his concentration. He would picture her face, young and furious, and then dismiss it just like that. And yet, during his seclusion within the room, he pondered on how he could summon Bartimaeus, or even if he should. If the Other Place was restricted by time as their world was, then it would be useless; the djinni would have no idea who he was, and he doubted it would care about his predicament. But the Other World was a place that is not set by limits. Time can be considered a limit, but it is an eternal limit. Mandrake could not know what the consequences would be, but he had little choice...

"How is that side treating you, John?" asked Mrs. Underwood as she placed new sheets on his bed. He stood off to the side.

"Erm, it _is_ a bit painful... Nothing horrible, though. You don't need to worry."

"Oh, but John, those type of injuries can cause greater problems later on. Perhaps we should get you a cane; it would help you with walking." She fit the edges of the sheets under the mattress, spreading out the ruffles and creases. Mandrake angled his head to the left.

"A cane?"

"Why yes, Arthur could easily find a way for one to be fashioned for you."

"Could he...?" mumbled the young man to himself as she hummed cheerily. Much to his surprise, he found himself tempted to accept the offer. Not only would it be helpful--walking _did_ pain him--and it would look rather dashing. He pictured it clearly in his mind, his lip curling. Mrs. Underwood fluffed his pillows. "The boy... Nathaniel is his name, correct? Shouldn't he be unaware of his birth name?"

"Well, yes," she replied, folding a blanket, "but soon he will be asigned an official name, and we'll work with him so he can forget it." She eyed him curiously. "How... did you know that was his birth name?"

Mandrake shifted toward the wall. "Oh, I just assumed it was," answered him quickly. "He seems young, too young to have an official name, but even so, I only supposed."

"You supposed correctly." She smiled, patting him on the arm. "You are quite thin, John, and if you're going to be living under our home, I intend to fatten you up a bit-come along, then."

As they descended to the ground floor, he asked her, "Where is the boy, by the way?"

"Nathaniel is in the middle of a lesson with his master. He'll be done soon... You know, I feel sorry for him, I really do. Being a magician is so taxing; he must be so lonely, all cooped up in that attic. I've tried to make things more comfortable for him, but... I know it's not enough..."

He nodded slightly. "I... I understand how he must feel."

"Hmm?" She cast him a quizzical look. "...Are you...?"

He stiffened. "If you're asking whether or not I am a magician... no, I'm not, but I have been trained in the arts. I was an apprentice myself, although I completed my training some years back." He felt odd lieing openly to her like this, but he was determined to put his life as a magician behind him. She blinked.

"You refused a magician's life...? To be honest John, I've never heard of someone doing such a thing. If anything, some people would adore having the privelage."

Mandrake shrugged. "I decided that I was not fit for such an important role. It just wasn't for me." She scratched her elbow, shrugged, and continued on into the kitchen, but his attention turned to the stairs, where Nathaniel came downward, stopping in midstep upon seeing him. They stared at each other for some moments, Mandrake breaking the silence. "Hello."

"Hello," said the boy, resuming his descent. He moved past him, but Mandrake stopped him.

"Nathaniel," he grasped his arm lightly, "I was wondering, if you weren't busy, whether or not you would like accompanying me in finding myself a cane?" He smiled as best he could; Nathaniel glanced at the floor.

"...I... suppose I could... I'd have to tell Mrs. Underwood-,"

"That's fine, go on ahead."

---

Mandrake knew going out to find a cane was something of an excuse to just get out, but he felt an obligation to help the boy in whatever way he could. They were on the lower deck of a city bus, Mandrake sitting beside the window. Nathaniel looked around himself with distaste. "...I feel uncomfortable around all these... _commoners_..." he muttered. Mandrake sighed.

"If you are so troubled, then stop staring at them." He received a glare.

"...Are we even _going_ to get your cane? We should have gotten off some stops back."

"You should enjoy your surroundings more," remarked Mandrake, closing his eyes. "Someday London won't exist, believe you me. You... should cherish things while you still have them." Nathaniel slid his hands into his pockets, gazing off into space.

"You say it as if London can disappear _overnight_!" he said. "That's rubbish. The Empire's too powerful to be taken down just like that. The magicians... they're the ones who protect us. But some of them, like my master... they're so _pathetic_."

"You shouldn't speak of your master like that," scolded Mandrake while picking a piece of lint from his sleeve. "He's done very much for you."

"Like you would understand. I have a right to disrespect him so... He..." The boy shook his head. "No, forget about it, it's not really important." Mandrake nodded, returning to his window.

"You're still young, Nathaniel, and with that very naive." He flashed him a reassuring smile. "But I am confident you will succeed in whatever you wish to do; you have ambition. Hmm, come, we'll get down here."

---

They walked at a slow pace through the streets of downtown London, passing by various shops and kiosks. It was a commoners' district, much to the dislike of Nathaniel. Mandrake minded it not; he even waved at several people. Nathaniel bit his lip lightly. "...You seem rather young, um-,"

"John."

"_John_. What of your parents, do you-,"

"I live on my own. My parents... passed away when I was around your age."

"Oh. Err, forgive me for bringing it up."

"Oh no, it's alright. It was a long while ago. The matter is done." However, deep within him, this hurt Mandrake somewhat. He had no idea who his parents were, and he well doubted they knew who he was either. So many things could have happened differently had they not put him up for becoming an apprentice to a magician, so many...

They kept on walking, quickening their pace a notch. "You know, Nathaniel, you don't have to become a magician," said Mandrake, stopping at a traffic-light. The odor of petroleum from closeby made Nathaniel wrinkle his nose.

"I'm aware of that, but I'd much rather be a magician. Besides, all my training would go to waste, and... all those other options are _commoners' jobs_. Working in the government just seems so much more fulfilling, do you understand?" A blur in the air-a surveillance sphere passed overhead. "I... want to accomplish great things. Everyday that passes is a day wasted. And there's so much _opportunity_ out there!" The light turned green; they moved on. Nathaniel took a breath. His face seemed paler than usual.

It was then that Mandrake felt a breeze touch his face. Cool and sudden.

_Nathaniel..._

A whisper in his ear. He glanced to his side, but even with his lenses, he saw nothing.

---

"Kitty, hey, Kitty!" The girl was shaken out of her thoughts by Eva, who was trying to speak to her from across the counter. Outside the art shop birds chirped in the dreary weather of London. The other girl waved a hand before her face. "You okay, Kitty? You blanked out there for a second." Stan cast her a sly grin from his seat on a stool, and she grimaced.

"Sorry," she said, "I was just thinking-,"

"About _Mr. John Mandrake_?" chuckled Stan. "That's got to be the fourth time today! Get a grip, Kitty, he was just some random loser who hobbled our way."

"_It's not him_," she hissed, and Eva moved away cautiously. "It's just what he said. I mean, it sort of made sense."

"Sure, sure, but it still counts as thinking about him. Well, anyways, it's almost time, so I better be off and sell me some papers. Come along, Fred." He motioned for the other boy to follow while leaving the shop. Fred grunted and got up from his chair, dropping his knife into his pocket.

"Don't dwell on it," he told Kitty plainly before exiting as well. She silently cursed at them, arranging some items on the counter. Eva patted her hand.

"They're just teasing you, Kitty, it's no big deal. But, I must admit, I _am_ a little curious about your Mr. Mandrake. Wish I could've been there with you guys when you stumbled into him." She sighed, attempting to picture him for a second.

"_He_ was the one who stumbled into _us_," corrected Kitty, folding her arms. "He seemed so calm, though, and he knew who we were! It was so strange... but, Eva, he_ knew my name_. I'm certain I've never even met him before!"

The older girl grew grim. "Are you sure he wasn't a demon?"

Kitty shook her head. "No, Fred didn't say anything, nor did he try to attack us... but... I can't get him out of my head..."

"Then why don't we find him?"

"Wait, _what_?"

"Let's meet him. Come on, I'll go with you."

---

As it left the busy street and entered the alleyway, the marid had already managed to disappear completely from sight on the first four planes. Disguised as a wisping, bodiless, hooded black cloak, it floated on air, a hollow voice emanating from its empty hood. "It is as you said, sir, his aura truly is peculiar. It affected even my essence at a distance."

"Is that so?" A short squat man, dressed in a long coat and hat, giggled to himself. A pair of driving goggles were strapped to his face. "So, Varian, could it be a resilience that comes from him?"

"Perhaps," answered the cloak, a mist surrounding it. "I have never seen such an..._abberation_. Not only does it somehow _feed_ off of my essence, but it displays enormous energy, as if it has been tampered with. He has been exposed to _very_ powerful magic, magic so strong it has mutated him."

"'Mutated'? That seems so extreme, Varian. No, I see it as a change to a higher state. A shame we couldn't examine how he'd react to a Detonation, or something similar. If what you say is true, the attack would merely be absorbed by him..." The magician hopped up and down. "Oh, this is so exciting! To think we may have stumbled upon something with amazing potential! Ah..." He composed himself, adjusting his hat. "Very well, I request that you continue observing him, Varian. Tread carefully, of course. Oh, don't you think this is wonderful?"

"Unfortunately, I do not," answered Varian. "We are dealing with an anomally of sorts, sir. This is uncharted territory, you see. Anything could happen with that young man. It would be unwise to meddle." The man shrugged.

"In any case, I must be off. Do not confront him, Varian, only observe."

"Of course, sir."

The man departed into the crowd and out of the alleyway. The worn cloak vanished; in its place was a young lady, wearing casual attire. Long, red hair fell from atop the girl's head. Her blank, emerald eyes twinkled. "...So, Nathaniel, you are quite unique. Quite unique, indeed..."

**END CHAPTER THREE**


	4. Chapter Four

_Resurface_

_Chapter Four_

The streets of London were swathed in rain, with great billows of it swooshing down upon the multitude of buildings and people. A sea of black parasols flooded the many streets, and the djinni in the guise of an Egyptian prince wrinkled his nose.

"So, what are you doing here, Nathaniel, lost? Maybe you should get some shelter, or a slave that can change the weather, you know?"

"It's just the rain," replied Nathaniel, who was fourteen again, drenched and standing in the middle of the throng of people. He cast the djinni a dirty look. "Besides, I don't need your help, or anything! You're just a filthy demon who works to destroy me and gain your freedom! Isn't that right, Bartimaeus? Isn't it? Bartimaeus? Bartimaeus, where did you go?"

Now the boy was gone, leaving Nathaniel in the midst of the throng of people. He was shoved aside, pushed. His head spun in every direction. "Bartimaeus!" he cried, running as best he could through the street. "I'm sorry, just come back! Please, just don't leave me alone!"

He slipped and tumbled forward, rolling into Underwood's library. He got to his feet, looking around himself. "How… What…?"

"Hello, Nathaniel. Would you like some tea?" Now Mrs. Underwood was standing before him, smiling like she always would. He could not form words, for before his eyes the library was consumed by flames. A tall, hulking shadow could be seen from beyond the fire, and he buried his head in his hands.

"No! It's my entire fault… no… Mrs. Underwood… Come back…" When he looked back up, the library and the fire were gone. Instead, he was sitting in the garden, and easel in front of him. The canvas was blank, but a soothing voice came from behind him.

"Well, aren't you going to put something down, or is it going to draw itself?"

He smiled and turned suddenly, exclaiming, "Ms. Lutyens!" Yet, no one was there. He frowned and got up, his surroundings having changed once more. It was a desolate city block, silent and gloomy. The sun shone down, and someone stepped up beside him.

"How hard is it to keep a promise, Nathaniel?" He recognized her voice instantly.

"Kitty…" he murmured, turning to face her. She appeared young and healthy now, and she looked towards him as well. He grasped her arm tightly, his eyes desperate.

"Don't go, not like Bartimaeus and the others! Don't leave, please!" She only shook her head.

"You keep failing people, Nathaniel, so why should they help you in your time of need? It's not their fault you pushed them away," she said coldly, her pupils dark and blank.

"I didn't push them away!" he protested, "It was beyond my control, but I can fix that now, I swear I can! I'll do anything, just as long as I don't have to be alone anymore!" His pleas did not reach her, however, as she looked away.

"See? More promises. If you can't keep them, Nathaniel, don't make them." And then she was gone, and the boy named Nathaniel could only crumple to his knees, and pound his fists on the asphalt.

"No, don't you leave me too! Why…? _Why am I alone_?" he cried out, his voice carried on the wind.

---

John Mandrake's eyes shot open, and, without raising himself, he scanned the dark room. Slowly he sat up, rubbing his face. Moonlight streamed in from the window, and he peered out of it. He scowled, examining his palm.

"No more…" he muttered to himself. "From now on, I'm keeping my promises."

---

"Well, I can tell you one thing," said Eva as she and Kitty rounded the block, the evening sky a mixture of red and yellow hues. "I couldn't find his name in any registries I looked through, which is strange, you know? Either he doesn't live in the city, or he lives with someone else. _Or_, he lied about his identity."

Kitty shrugged glumly. "It's no big deal, but thanks, anyway. I wish you found something, though; you've been all hyped up about it." The other girl sighed and yawned. "It's getting late," said Kitty. "We should be getting back to the shop."

"Yeah…"

"Kathleen Jones."

Instantly they both spun around. Kitty stared dumbly at the young, red-haired woman standing some feet away. The woman wore a ruby-colored jacket and black trousers. She was awfully pale.

"Erm, yes?" the girl asked. "Do I… know you?" The woman approached her, shaking her head.

"You do not, but I know who you are, Kathleen, due to his presence in this place." She slid her arm out, clutching Kitty by the shoulder forcefully.

"Hey, what are you-," Kitty screamed, a foreign digit running through her mind suddenly. Eva jumped back in surprise. The woman frowned slightly.

"It seems you know not the whereabouts of John Mandrake. How very unfortunate." She turned and started off, but Kitty, rubbing her arm, called out to her.

"You… You know who he is? John Mandrake?" Her voice quavered, but was hopeful. The stranger paused, nodding.

"Yes."

Kitty searched for the right words, hardly able to contain her excitement. Something about just the thought of Mandrake filled her with a great rush of mixed emotions. She knew not why, but it was as if he was some old friend that she forgot about for years. The notion was impossible, of course.

"Well…" She licked her lips. "Do you know where he is? I've been looking for him, I mean… I don't even know if it's the same man you're talking about, but-,"

"You would do well to stay clear of John Mandrake," said the woman crisply. "He carries with him a foreign element that corrupts those around him. The longer he remains in this realm, the stronger that element grows. He does not belong here."

Kitty had trouble absorbing this information. "No, you don't understand-,"

"_Kitty_!" Eva hissed, motioning above them. A vigilance sphere hovered in the air for a moment; the woman stared at it. Without warning, the sphere let out a shrill whistle, piercing the air. The two girls covered their ears, but the strange woman stayed stony-faced. Eva grabbed Kitty's forearm.

"Come on, it won't be long before the police come, or some demons. We can't stay here!"

They started running, the whistle failing to cease. The dreary outline of the moon hung lightly in the sky, and autumn leaves flew before them from a nearby lawn. A man in gray stepped in their way. "Now _where_ do you think you're going?" he asked coolly, grinning, their eyes catching a glimpse of a fang.

"We were just heading home, officer, nothing to worry about," stated Eva, but the officer chuckled and adjusted his cap.

"Then what's the rush? Not the sphere that's scaring you, is it? It's just alerting officials to a disturbance, that's all." They backed away, but two more Night Police were there to greet them. The first one made a move towards them. "Now girls-,"

He cringed, his fellow officers tensing. He writhed and his limbs flailed; he crumpled to the ground in intense agony. The woman from before approached them.

"You," she said to the officer, "shall not harm them." He gasped, flopping around like a fish without water. The other two police growled and drew out two sticks; one of them spoke an incantation and hurled it at the woman. It stopped in midair, as if hitting an invisible wall, and bounced harmlessly back. Then, in a flash, he was flung back into the street. With cold regard the woman held out a hand; the officer vanished in a burst of green fire.

The last officer waved his item in front of himself, but the woman murmured a word. With a cry, his body erupted into blue flames, and in seconds he was reduced to ash. The policeman who was left on the ground struggled to stand. The woman narrowed her eyes, and he fell completely limp. Kitty and Eva stood off to the side, breathless.

"Be wary," advised the woman, who walked off. Kitty gulped.

---

Mandrake was awoken by a slamming of doors and some muffled complaints. He listened carefully, drawing the sheets up closer to his chin. How he would have loved to remain like that, to just close his eyes and fade away like he was meant to. But fate could never be so generous, as he had learned from past experience. Slowly, his mind awhirl, he got to his feet and dressed himself into something more fitting.

He regarded himself solemnly in the mirror. Was it is his imagination, or was his skin paler than usual? No, that was ridiculous. He sighed and winced, rubbing his side. Today was the day he would go and get himself that cane.

A nice aroma floated to this nose as he stepped out into the hallway and began towards the kitchen. He spotted Mr. Underwood and his wife exchange some words before he left the house. He approached her casually.

"Is there something wrong this morning?"

"Hmm? Oh, good morning, John. I'm sorry if Arthur awoke you. Supposedly late yesterday a rogue demon assaulted some police, and the ministry's been searching for it all night and this morning."

"A rogue demon? Have they classified it?"

"I don't think so. But don't let it trouble you, John. Oh, I have some cleaning to do…" She turned and shuffled over to another room, but he stopped her.

"Mrs. Underwood… could I ask you a question?"

"Oh, of course, John. Yes?"

"Well, I just wanted to know…" he mindlessly adjusted his collar, "why it is that you treat me so? Ever since I began staying here you've been so kind and understanding, when I know that no one would treat someone they don't know with such respect."

She smiled sweetly, but this was a tad forced. "To be honest with you, John, I really don't know. You're right, I don't know you, but the moment I saw you with that horrible wound… I felt like I had known you for years, as if you were a dear relative that I had forgot entirely about until that one point in time. It surprised me, for I knew that I had no idea who you were."

Mandrake angled his head somewhat. "… I'm afraid I don't understand."

Mrs. Underwood sighed. "I really can't explain it any better than that, unfortunately…" She smiled one last time before leaving, and he glanced down at the floor.

He cleared his throat and leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes. He felt, for some reason, that he was running out of time. He had not had an opportunity to even attempt a summoning, and he saw no other way he could figure out the solution to his predicament.

A thought occurred to him. Nathaniel. If he told the boy the truth, would he help him? It was too difficult to say… He shook his head. He could not risk something like that. No, what he had in mind was risky as well, but if he handled it well, he doubted any trouble would come up.

He sprang up and headed to Underwood's study. He regretted this slightly, but what would the loss of some chalk and incense do to the magician? Upon arriving at the study he disarmed the hex with ease, and entered, swiftly locating the necessary items and leaving. He feared, for a second, that the hex would fail to reassert itself, but luckily he saw the markings light up. Quickly, he went into his room and set everything on the floor. Now was the time.

**END CHAPTER FOUR**


	5. Chapter Five

_Resurface_

_Chapter Five_

Quentin Makepeace enjoyed a quick breakfast as he scanned the numerous pages that adorned his desk. Pen in hand, he scribbled upon seemingly random ones at seemingly random times, all at once speaking the incantation. In the pentacle some feet in front of the desk, a figure appeared.

"I hope our friend has been doing alright, eh, Varian?" He looked up at the marid with that gleeful, energized expression of his. "I've been pondering the situation quite intently, and it has been throwing off my concentration when it comes to my works! So, tell me, have you discovered anything new on Mr. Mandrake?" If he was attempting to hide his enthusiasm, he was doing a rather poor job of it.

Varian remained stony-faced as always, staring at him with blank eyes. "His condition has been… _worsening_ at an unknown pace. It either falls rapidly or slowly at different spasms. Unfortunately, however, I have yet to locate his current location."

Makepeace's smile flinched. "Is that so?"

"Yes, sir." The red-haired woman glanced downward. "I have been trying more indirect methods to finding him, compared to following him. It is impossible to say how I could react if I came in contact with him."

"Exactly," said Makepeace, crunching forcefully on a piece of toast. "We must contain him quickly, because, as you said, anything could happen, and I am not entirely willing to take that chance, should he become useless to me because of it. Do you understand, Varian?"

"Of course, sir." The woman composed herself accordingly as the playwright finished his meal.

"Well then, I had better check on how Simon is holding up. Only one month before the event at Heddleham… Oh, and one more thing, Varian."

"Yes, sir?"

"Please try to be more careful when you dispose of our dear Night Police; it creates _such _an unnecessary disturbance."

"Of course, sir."

---

For a long while John Mandrake stared at the items he had gathered and the empty space he had prepared on the floor. Entering Underwood's study had affected him more than he would have liked to admit. The time those imps had assaulted him, and then when Lovelace came with Jabor… He patted his cheeks.

The past was behind him… or was it? By summoning Bartimaeus, he would soon find out. But if he was actually in the past, how exactly would this play out? He drew a breath and began his work.

He had no fear of being disturbed. If anything, working like this exhilarated him somewhat. He grinned, but focused. He was optimistic that this would bring some much-needed answers.

Mandrake recited the incantations, and waited. After around a minute or so, the air above the opposite pentacle suddenly rippled and writhed. A visible distortion appeared, and it seemed like the air was being sucked into itself. This alerted Mandrake, as he felt something tugging at him, trying to pull him toward the distortion. It became greater, taking up more space.

He stepped back, nearly leaving his pentacle. Muttering a curse, he saw the event totally stop. Holding his breath, the pause continued. His limbs felt soft and heavy, and the feeling disturbed him greatly. A noticeable black dot materialized in the space above the other pentacle, the chaotic motions having subsided. Mandrake narrowed his eyes at this. The dot swirled, and soon it grew. The lights in the room shut out then came back on, the window glass cracked. From somewhere beyond the vortex a horrible gust of wind came pushing him back and then forward.

He tried to speak, but his voice was gone. He grasped his throat in alarm, the spiraling chaos returning. The furniture and floorboards rattled, his coat swayed violently, and his mind began to shut down. A soothing aura surrounded him, and he smiled. It blanketed him with comfort. He could feel himself melting away into the darkness, when his voice returned to him. Immediately he fought back, mustering up as much will power as he could.

"I command you to stop!" he roared, and gradually the disruption ceased, and the darkness withered away. He gathered his breath, and steadily a form could be seen in the other pentacle. Mandrake studied the form with interest. It became a dark gas, and from within it a small voice spoke.

"…I know you." It caught Mandrake off-guard. The djinni's voice had never been so weak and fragile before; it startled him.

"Are you the djinni known as Bartimaeus?" he asked. His own voice was a bit shaky.

"…Yes…" The gas took on the appearance of a young Egyptian boy now, Ptolemy. "And you're… Na… John… err…"

"Nathaniel," he said, leaning forward. "Are you… are you positive you know who am I?"

"Yes, I'm sure, but I know _you_'ve never summoned me before. I'm a little confused… No, I'm sure of it. I have no idea who you are, although I feel as though we have met before."

"Hmm… Do you recall entities known as Ramuthra, or Nouda?"

"_Nouda_? You must be joking."

"…I see."

They sat in silence within their pentacles. Outside the window, a bird watched them with interest. Flecks of red were spotted upon its feathers.

The Egyptian boy narrowed his eyes at his master. "Your aura."

Mandrake looked up and uttered a late reply. "What?"

"Your aura, it looks like something dipped it in chocolate and put it in a blender with absolutely everything else in existence. It's all, well, screwed up. I've never seen anything like it."

"What do you mean, 'screwed up'?" inquired Mandrake with annoyance. "I feel fine. There's nothing wrong with me."

"Oh yes there is. You just can't see it."

"Now-,"

Someone knocked at his door. He looked back at it tiredly, and then gazed back at the pentacles and items. "You can cast a Glamour, or something similar, correct?"

"Pretty much." With a wave of the hand everything vanished on the first plane. Because he was wearing his lenses, Mandrake could see it all on the next two planes, but that was unimportant. Or was it? For a moment his vision blurred. Most likely nothing. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened the door a fraction. There stood Nathaniel.

"…I was passing by and I heard some voices," stated the boy. Mandrake shook his head.

"Must have been your imagination."

"Perhaps…" Nathaniel peered inside, and gasped. He walked in, unable to conjure up words. Mandrake was not expecting this, but then he recalled that, at this particular point in time, he would be wearing his lenses…

Bartimaeus raised an eyebrow. Nathaniel turned back to Mandrake. "You're… a magician?"

Mandrake felt, for some unexplainable reason, a deep pang in his chest. There was no reason to be regretful, yet…

"The demon, it is still in the pentacle?"

"Of course I am, can't you see me?" The djinni stood, removing the Glamour. He smiled reassuringly at Nathaniel. "Relax-I'm not going to bite you."

"But-But John stepped out of the pentacle, you can do whatever you'd like, and-,"

"John?" Bartimaeus sneered. "Which one's your true name?"

"'John Mandrake' is the name I was assigned during my apprenticeship," he said plainly, staring at the wall. Nathaniel furrowed his brow in agitation.

"The demon knows your birth name?"

"Apparently," remarked Bartimaeus, folding his arms, "but I'm slightly confused. Who are you supposed to be?" He eyed Nathaniel with a bemused expression. The boy scowled at him.

"Like I would tell _you_," he said venomously. The Egyptian boy shrugged and backed out of his pentacle, looking to Mandrake. Nathaniel moved away from both of them. "Why did you summon it? When did you gather all the necessary supplies?"

Mandrake's mouth felt rather dry. "I visited your master's study earlier and took what I needed."

"What of the hex?"

"Easily taken care of."

"...I see, but you still haven't answered my other question: why summon it in the first place?"

"I'd like to know too," said the djinni.

"Well…" The magician stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure of the exact details, but… I am not of this… _time_." He waited for them to respond, but Nathaniel only shook his head.

"What are you trying to say? How can you not be 'of this time'?"

"Due to certain circumstances, it seems that I have been propelled into the past, _my past_, to be more precise."

"Time travel?" questioned Bartimaeus, glancing at Nathaniel as he said this. The pale-faced boy clicked his tongue in exasperation.

"How can you be sure of this?"

"Because," replied Mandrake coldly, "the London that I resided in, the one I left behind unwillingly, was nearly decimated by a group of rogue demons who successfully revolted against the magicians. The government was toppled over, and, I'm assuming now, it is in the hands of commoners and magicians alike… thanks to the efforts of an… _acquaintance_ of mine. And…" he sighed, "this house, the one I lived in for the remainder of my childhood since I was five, had been burned down."

"This house…" Nathaniel stared uncertainly at him, and Bartimaeus nodded.

"That explains in the similarity between your two auras; one is much less mutilated, though, and seemingly more stable."

"It can't be…" murmured Nathaniel to himself. "There can't be two of me… how… it defies all logic…" He cast Mandrake one last glance before fainting and collapsing onto the bed. The magician ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Bartimaeus nearly caught sight of the bird as it left the tree it was perched upon in haste.

---

"Look at that," said Stanley with distaste as he skimmed through the front page of the newspaper. "This 'rogue demon' business is certainly stirring up some publicity, should sell well. I'm off then, I guess." He walked out of the art shop and took the handle of his cart, humming some random tune as he went off. Kitty, Anne, and Eva watched him go.

"I'm going to go get some fresh air," Kitty said, walking out. The weather was perfect, nowhere near as dreary as it had been for most of the week. She smiled.

"Kathleen Jones." Once again, the voice alarmed her, but she turned and met the woman's gaze as best she could.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

"I only wanted to inform you that John Mandrake can be located in the residence of Arthur Underwood." And with those words she was gone.

**END CHAPTER FIVE**


	6. Chapter Six

_Resurface_

_Chapter Six_

The first thing Nathaniel saw when he awoke was the djinni, still in the form of an Egyptian boy. He let out a gasp and nearly slid off of the bed. "…Where… where…?" he murmured, screwing his eyes up.

"Took you long enough," said Bartimaeus as he leaned idly against the wall. "He left. Said he had to gather his thoughts or something like that. I wasn't listening all that attentively."

Nathaniel sat up, keeping his eyes off of the djinni. "Why haven't you done anything yet? Why haven't you-,"

"Ate you, incinerated you? Oh, well that's because I don't feel like it," replied Bartimaeus casually. It squinted at Nathaniel, tapping its chin. "And he told me not to do it, anyway."

"_What_?" The boy gaped at the demon. "You're actually just going along with whatever he says? You're out of the pentacle, you are no longer confined to do his bidding!" The Egyptian boy only smirked in a peculiar way.

"Just like all other magicians, eh? Not _all_ spirits kill their masters if given the chance… well, actually, it's pretty rare if they _don't_…" The sarcastic djinni waved a hand quickly. "Look, never mind, I can't really explain it, but I have virtually _no_ desire to kill him… _or_ you. What, I don't understand it myself, so don't look at me like that."

Nathaniel stepped off of the bed and began pacing around the room, carefully avoiding all the items scattered about the floor. He stroked his chin in an odd, wise manner, very unbefitting of a boy his age. "You can't stay here… and we can't just leave all of this just _lying here_…" he muttered to himself.

"How about we just go and find him, _whatever_ his name is," Bartimaeus suggested. Nathaniel peered at him quizzically.

"But we don't even know where he is! Are you _positive_ he did not tell you where he went?"

It shrugged and looked towards the door. "I'll tell you what-I'll cast a Glamour over this so no one else can see it, and then we can go on our jolly way and look for Mr. Mystery Man. How does that sound? Then again, what about any magicians-,"

"No," interrupted Nathaniel, "Underwood isn't nearly competent enough to pierce through a Glamour. It'll be fine." He glanced about himself, finally nodding. "Alright, fine, we'll go find him. It won't solve anything just waiting around. However, I have to go fetch something; for now, you can just step outside, but wait until I tell you if it's clear."

"Kid, you clearly underestimate me. Me, Bartimaeus of Uruk! I have vanquished armies, destroyed great cities! I am quite certain I can leave a house unscathed! Need I _remind_ you of my very detailed and praise-worthy accomplishments? I-,"

"No, no, fine… just make sure you take on a form less… _conspicuous_."

Bartimaeus appeared hurt for a moment, but sighed. "Sure, sure. Just hurry up." In the blink of an eye, the Egyptian was gone, and in its place was a fly. It zipped off of the floor and through the door crack. After some seconds, Nathaniel drew a heavy breath and left the room and went for the stairs. Mrs. Underwood stopped him, though, as she descended the stairs.

"Nathaniel!" she beamed. "What have you been doing? Spending some time with John, have you?"

"Err, yes, um…" His eyes darted around. "Is it alright if I take a walk, Mrs. Underwood? Just to get some fresh air, you see."

"Hmm… I don't see anything wrong with that, but don't be too long; lunch will be ready in another hour or so."

"Of course, of course. I won't." He sped past her, and she looked after him curiously before shrugging and continuing down the stairs and into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, the fly sat dumbly on the wall of the Underwood household when Nathaniel came out, a coat on and a disc in his hand. He dropped it into his coat pocket and glanced around. The djinni landed beside him in the form of Ptolemy, dressed in usual, casual clothing. "What's that?" it asked, and Nathaniel shook the disc.

"It's my Scrying Glass," he informed the spirit proudly. "I made it myself!"

"And what a _fine_ job you did. What? I'm serious. In any case, come on, who knows where he could be."

---

"Rogue demon attacks officers! Read all about it!" As much as he tried to express _some_ emotion, Stanley just could not manage it. Especially when he was forced to speak about _this_. Ever since he, Kitty, and Fred had met with that Mandrake fellow, he was unable to shake off this feeling of dread. His anxiousness to continue with their next hit did not help and Kitty had even got Eva mixed up in her search for Mandrake!

He waved the newspaper copy high above his head, twisting his head and body to each side to try and attract some passerby to make a purchase. Two boys approached him, and he grinned despite himself.

"Excuse me," said one of the boys as he narrowed his eyes at the stack of newspapers. "What's this talk about a "rogue demon"?"

Stanley's grin grew larger as his eyes wandered downwards, catching a faint aura from within one of the boy's coat pockets. He looked back up hastily. "Oh, I don't know, mate," he said. "Isn't that why they invented these things anyway? Here-," he handed the paper he was holding to the boy; "it's yours. Free-of-charge."

The boy stared at it stupidly before handing it back to him. "Sorry, but-,"

"What is it? Just take it," encouraged the person beside him. Stanley scrutinized him, frowning. He was tanned, obviously not from around here, but he made him oddly uncomfortable…

"Um, thank you, I suppose."

"Oh, yeah… Hey, you… wouldn't have anything on you that you'd like to get rid of, would you?" It was a stupid question. Though he decided not to try anything; if the other kid _was_ a demon in disguise, it would be much too risky.

The British boy glanced from the newspaper to Stanley before answering, "…No, why do you ask?"

Stanley forced a laugh. "No reason, no reason, I've just been collecting odd trinkets as of late, seeing what I can find…"

"…I see…" replied the coated boy, turning away and starting off. His comrade flashed Stanley a smile and followed after the other one. Stanley cursed rather fervently.

---

"That was… odd, to say the least," stated Nathaniel as they rounded the block and kept on walking. Bartimaeus yawned.

"Your ability to state the obvious astounds me, you know?"

Nathaniel glared daggers at him, but the demon laughed hollowly. "Sorry, sorry; my, you _are_ quite a touchy one… Ahem, anyway, at least you got a free newspaper out of it. A _most_ beneficial meeting if you ask me!"

"I _didn't_ ask you," responded Nathaniel, and he unfolded the newspaper and began to read through the front page. "Hmm…"

"What does it say?"

He looked up, suddenly sheepish. "What…?"

"I'm _vaguely_ interested… so what does it say?"

"Oh, nothing much, just… "A demon of high caliber is suspected of downing several Night Police officers late last evening." That's pretty much the gist of it."

"A demon of high caliber…" Bartimaeus said to itself, chuckling. "Gee, that doesn't sound too good, if you ask me…"

"What do _you_ care? This is a matter of Parliament; not of a demon."

"Did I ever say I _do_ care?"

Nathaniel tucked the paper under his arm and grimaced. "It _is_ peculiar, though. I mean, at around the appearance of John… it's hard to say if it's a coincidence or not."

"About that, aren't we supposed to be _looking_ for Johnny-boy, not wasting time?" The djinni shrugged in an innocent fashion. "It might be a good idea, you know."

The magician's apprentice groaned and gestured in a random direction. "Yes, yes, well, let's hurry on then."

"Of course." It moved on, but the boy took its arm. "What is it now?" Bartimaeus demanded as it turned around.

Nathaniel met its eerie, blank gaze. "I'm… curious as to why a demon like you is trying to, um, help."

"I wouldn't exactly call it "_helping_"… I already told you it's difficult to explain, but I feel as if I've know our friend for a long time." The spirit considered his words for a moment before shaking a finger. "No, no, it's more like a very distant familiar feeling. Not really like I've known him, but that I've met him. And I feel I owe him something, for some very indistinct reason I cannot hope to conjure."

"Do you believe you can trust him, then?" Nathaniel asked.

"…I can't really say for sure. Seems harmless enough… but you seem to have gotten a bit too lax with me in too short a period of time…" It shook his grasp off, brushing away at the spot with the back of its hand. "Oh, and one more thing, before I forget."

"What is it?"

"Stop saying _demon_ whenever you refer to me. I am a _djinni_, got it? Djinni."

"Right. Djinni."

---

His head buzzed with the irritating sound of a far-off bell. He had no idea why, and not even the sound of the Thames could remedy it. John Mandrake stared out at the wide expanse of the river as his legs gave way and he dropped to his knees.

"The summoning… _couldn't_ have taken this much out of me… could it…?" He felt the sickliest he had ever felt in his entire life. He let out a mix of a gurgle and a cough, and his whole body wobbled unstably.

"A dead man should not exist after his time is over and done with, especially in a time where he was never meant to exist at all. Would you not agree, Nathaniel?" The monotonous voice raised him from his place on the ground, and as he stood he faced the woman.

She was tall and pale, with startling bright, long red hair. Mandrake shuddered as the wind blew around him.

"…Who are you? How do you know-,"

"I know nearly everything about you, Nathaniel. It oozes off of you like slime, making itself unavoidable."

"What are you speaking of?" he questioned, grounding his teeth as he spoke. The woman smiled wryly.

"You have been tainted, Nathaniel, and your thoughts, memories, emotions… they all cling to you and then fall off, and to sensitive beings like myself, we take those traces in. I am a low-class marid, and I am referred to as Varian."

"A _marid_…? Could you be… that rogue demon…?"

"Yes, in fact, I was the one who disposed of those heinous officers. I did you a favor in that sense; those officers were going to harm Kathleen Jones and her friend."

"_Kitty_?" Mandrake threw his arms out in agitation. "What is your business with me? Who is your master?"

"My master wishes to meet with you, Nathaniel. Aside from that, I have no other obligations. If you would come with me, all your questions will be answered."

Mandrake groaned and shook his head. "…No, I will not go with you. Just leave me be…" Varian sighed.

"Nathaniel, something very odd has happened to you. You have been transported to an altogether different time period through unknown means. Your life could possibly be in grave danger."

"My _life_…?" he said while looking down at his body. "What… Just what is going on with me? _What is it_?"

Varian averted her eyes to the Thames and said, "If you choose not to accompany me to my master, please know that I will not hesitate to differ the circumstances a bit. If I must, I shall force you to follow." Then she was gone, leaving not one trace behind.

Mandrake squinted at the space she had previously occupied, finding his lenses unable to spot anything. In fact, his vision blurred somewhat. His hand steadily reached up to his face and, cautiously, he removed them, cupping them in his palm. Mandrake blinked, seeing an explosion of various colors and hues suddenly bombarding him from his surroundings. He shut his eyes closed and reopened them, his vision returning to normal.

He glanced down at his lenses. Reluctantly he place them in a pocket and hurried off as quickly as possible.

**END CHAPTER SIX**


	7. Chapter Seven

_Resurface_

_Chapter Seven_

By scouring through a registry in a nearby phone booth Kitty discovered several 'Arthur Underwood's residing in London. What a pain. Though, she wasn't too keen on trusting a demon that happened to know her name and seemed to have an odd interest in her. But for some unexplainable reason, she could feel no ill intent from the spirit. "Demons are always out to harm you," she remembered, but every demon had a master. Someone was sending this demon to her for an unknown purpose, and Kitty of course knew the danger behind this.

It was obviously a magician—what commoner summoned spirits? Could he or she possibly know she was a member of the Resistance? Could this demon be trying to infiltrate the Resistance through her?

Kitty pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind; now was not the time for that. Even if it was something of a trap, the demon was her only chance of finding John Mandrake. She sighed and stepped out of the phone booth. It was chilly. Or, at least, she thought it was. It hadn't been cold earlier that day. She had quickly ripped out the sheet from the phone book and jammed it into her jacket pocket. She couldn't help the feeling that someone nearby was watching her… maybe following her.

'Get a hold of yourself,' she thought with bitter amusement. 'You're getting paranoid over nothing.'

She started out towards the street, the road and everything on it suddenly becoming very blurry. She shut her eyes and opened them, but this only made it worse. Her head swam horribly; her current train of thought lost itself. Someone was following her, she knew now, it wasn't her imagination. Her feet were carrying her into the street, and she could not stop herself. A screech to her right, a flicker of lights to her left—she felt like puking. More footsteps from behind, and she chanced a glance to the right, seeing a car heading right at her, its headlights blinding her. Then she was shoved to the front, out of the way of the small car as it failed to stop and collided with something and sent it flying.

---

Mandrake shuffled his way forwards, tripping over himself as he made his way back to the Underwoods'. Passerby gave him strange glances, almost as if the mere sight of him disgusted them. He _felt_ disgusting. It wasn't possible for summoning Bartimaeus to have taken _this_ much of a toll on him. It wasn't only that he was fatigued, though; he felt physically sick and he knew he was sweating, and although the weather was cold, he was burning up. His mouth was parched and dry.

That's when he saw her-Kitty Jones-walking out of a phone booth up ahead. Her head was down and it looked like she was in deep thought. Perhaps too deep, for she did not notice the screaming automobile that swerved onto the road at that moment, going too fast to stop. 'She's… going to be hit!' he yelled in his mind, forcing his legs to move. People were staring now, someone was shouting, but it wouldn't make a difference. He was the closest one to her. But how could she not see it?

As he ran to her, he realized why.

She was moving drunkenly, ambling forward sluggishly and without much effort, just like how he had been seconds before… but now he felt completely energized! He was entirely refreshed, although he suddenly felt that same energy draining as fast as it had come. There was no time to waste.

Mandrake rushed at her backside, in the instant the vehicle shot out onto the street with only some feet between them. He saw her turn her head, and then he acted. With the last of his newfound strength he pushed her to the asphalt. He spun around and locked eyes with the driver for a split second before the front of the car slammed into him. The sheer impact landed him harshly on his side several yards of the car as it skidded to a halt.

Already a crowd was gathering, and Kitty looked up in a daze.

---

At around the time this occurred, Bartimaeus and Nathaniel had rounded the block and witnessed John Mandrake being hit head-on by the speeding automobile. He was definitely unconscious from their vantage point, but there was no blood. At least they didn't see any, as he was quickly blocked from their view by the crowd.

"That was him!" Nathaniel cried out, pointing. "Did you see it? He's probably near death from a hit like that!"

"I doubt it," said the djinni distractedly, folding Ptolemy's arms.

"There's no way he escaped that unscathed! It's impossible!" Nathaniel made to run out into the crowd, but Bartimaeus grasped his arm and yanked him back. "What are you doing?" the boy demanded, "We have to make sure he's all right!"

"Look, I didn't say he _wasn't_ hurt, but he'll most definitely be fine; I assure you." The spirit fixed him with a casual look.

"How do you know, _demon_?" he shouted, losing control of himself. "How would you know something like that? Didn't you want to find him yourself?"

Bartimaeus sighed tiredly. "Of course I wanted to find him, that's why I came with you, but stop your babbling and listen."

The boy calmed down and stared at him impatiently, but he threw out his arms wildly. "_Well_?"

"Alright, alright…" Bartimaeus said. "There's something wrong with him, but I'm not positive. His aura is erratic; it's not normal. And every time I'm near him I get this chilly feeling and it's like I'm forgetting something very important. Something that I can remember, but it's blurry and I can't exactly tell what it is." It cued the blank look on the boy's face. "Do you understand?"

"No," replied Nathaniel, "I don't. What are you trying to say?"

"When he summoned me, he knew who I was, but not just because he's read about me in one of those books you humans write each year or so, to let everyone know which spirits were still alive so they could be summoned and then consequently destroyed as well. He knew me on more of a personal level, and I felt that way too, but I _know_ he's never summoned me before today."

"So… you believe him about what he said, that he actually time-traveled?"

"I'm not ruling that out, but we can't really take chances. If he has, and he summoned me in some future time of his, and his presence is affecting me, then it might affect you too, but perhaps on a grander scale."

It waited for some response from Nathaniel, but received none. "Anyway, I personally don't think it's his _presence_ here that's doing this. It's something else that probably has something to do with how his aura is acting."

Nathaniel frowned. "And why are you looking out for my well-being anyway?"

"I'm not. If he really _is_ you, and if something happens to you that affects him, there won't be anyone to dismiss me and send me out of here."

The boy chuckled dryly after a moment. "…I see. So you don't… really care about what happens to him, or me, for that matter."

Bartimaeus studied his face intently. "What? Don't tell me that bothers you."

"No, it doesn't, I just thought you really wanted to help him." His tone was spiteful. Bartimaeus shrugged.

"Well, can't always get what you want. Besides-," It stopped and looked back, squinting at the air. Nathaniel narrowed his eyes and brought his gaze up to the same spot.

"What is it?"

The djinni glanced back at him and waved a dismissive hand. "Something was watching us. I can't believe I didn't notice it until now, though!"

"What was it?" Nathaniel asked, his voice cracking slightly with fear. The djinni looked back.

"Most likely a spy, but I'm not sure. I thought I sensed something when we were back at your home. This… could be bad."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I doubt it's anything more than an imp of some sort, but even so, I think someone is trying to find out what's going on with our friend over there. Anyway, there's only one thing to do."

"What?"

"Follow it, obviously."

Ptolemy vanished, and a pigeon stood on the cement in its place. "I'm going after it." Nathaniel gestured in Mandrake's direction.

"But what about him?"

The bird began to flap its wing to obtain some height. "Leave him be for now. I want you to try and trail after me, but keep yourself as hidden as possible; our spy could be _anything_, even a nice, fine young lass who'd like to worm some information out of you. I'm not saying it could _trick_ me and escape to you, but just keep your eyes and ears open for, you know, danger."

Without any more words, Bartimaeus rose and flew off, moving its small wings masterfully and darting its eyes left to right. Nathaniel gulped, waited some moments, and slowly followed.

---

The djinni was wise in assuming that John Mandrake would be fine; Varian thought the same way as it floated at a steady pace on the wind, wary of the presence following it. It had rendered itself invisible on the first four planes, so the djinni could not be blamed for failing to notice the marid. Varian had acquired all the information it needed, though.

The djinni was less sensitive than it was, but it still felt something. It was no doubt the Bartimaeus Nathaniel was so fond of summoning. But _time travel_! The marid has suspected this very vaguely, but it had not told its master of this, which was the same for a lot of things the marid was pondering about.

'It will do no good to prolong this anymore than necessary, if I am to confront this Bartimaeus, best to do it now.' A form appeared in the air-a dark shape that held no real countenance-and landed upon a building. The form changed, and in its place was a young woman with long, dazzling red hair. She looked up to the sky. She remained invisible on the first four planes, but she was sure the djinni was searching for her on the last three. No doubt it knew it was not an imp it was chasing.

A pigeon flew down to meet the woman, changing upon landing. "Not a lot of spies would welcome me out in the open like this," Ptolemy said, "You must be pretty confident. There has to be quite a few other little entities staring at us."

"We are unknown to them on the first four planes, which is higher than most of them can see. I have taken the appropriate measures."

"I can tell." Bartimaeus outstretched a hand in a lukewarm greeting. "So, I've already ruled out you being a djinni, and you're of course not a foliot or imp. And I really, really doubt that an afrit could make itself invisible on any planes after the first, so that leaves me with only one, very down-spiriting option: you're a marid."

"Correct. I am identified as Varian."

"Varian…" Bartimaeus thought for a moment and shook his head. "Sorry, never heard of you. Really, I know a lot of spirits, but I guess even if we _had_ met before I'd be running away instead of deciding to talk… which I should be doing right now.

"Anyway, why was a _marid_ spying on us?"

"I was employed by my master to perform a variety of tasks."

"I guess your master only goes for the good stuff, eh?"

"I suppose so."

There was a silence between them, and Varian stared gravely at the djinni. "You have good reason to be wary of Mandrake, Bartimaeus. He is liability to everyone around him, do you understand?"

"Yes, but what is it that you want?"

"My master wishes to hold palaver with Mandrake, and he has instructed me to do whatever is necessary to allow for that to happen. I am warning you now, that if you value your life you will stand clear of me and allow me to do what I must. It will do no good for either of us if I am forced to destroy you."

"I agree wholeheartedly," replied Bartimaeus.

Varian nodded. "For your sake, I hope that is true." The woman walked off to the edge of the roof and turned her back to him. "Good fortune to you." And then she fell off. Bartimaeus advanced forward and peered down stupidly, seeing nothing.

The djinni sighed.

**END CHAPTER SEVEN**


	8. Chapter Eight

_Resurface_

_Chapter Eight_

That was the end. It had to be. This was how he would die. And this time he would die with regrets, not like when he and Bartimaeus had confronted Nouda at the Glass Palace with obliteration on the nigh. No, that had been a glorious death, a _hero's_ death—not that he was an actual hero; there was nothing really redeemable about him anyway. He had accepted his fate in that London of never-was…

But now that was not the case. He had so many things left to do, and now he would die here, his identity unknown, and nothing had been resolved. He had saved her, but he had failed many more.

"It's you! You're Mandrake! John Mandrake!" That's when he realized he wasn't dead, but his entire body was burning with a ferocious agony. And, he noticed, it wasn't at all the pain of having just been rammed sideways by an awry vehicle. It felt like his entire body was changing within him, shifting, and with each breath he took the pain seemed to increase tenfold. He managed to turn on his side and look up at her young—_younger_—form and the others that had gathered.

"You're alive," she said quietly. The moment he had been hit her previous illness had vanished. _He was the cause_, she thought. _There's something about him, but who _is _he?_

Mandrake finally realized that he _was_ alive. The horrible change in his body suddenly dissipated, and he felt _spectacular_. Whatever sicknesses or aches that had plagued him before were gone completely. With a nimbleness that was unknown to him, he climbed to his feet and shocked the whole crowd into stepping back, and then stepping back again. Who was hit head-on by a car and then stood up like nothing? It was miraculous.

He looked down at Kitty and their eyes met, and he then looked back at the sky. A trail of red shimmered from their spot and took off in the opposite direction, and he could feel something vaguely familiar on it. He glanced down at his hands and saw that he was _glowing_. It was his aura, blindingly white and startling. And yet it was totally different from when he and Bartimaeus had joined as one. He was in complete control.

"Kitty," he said softly while turning back to her. She caught her breath, not expecting to be spoken to so suddenly. Although, she attributed some of her current shock to seeing him rise like he had. "You have to go," he continued. "You have to go back to your art shop and tell all of your friends, your family—you all have to leave London."

Mandrake himself wasn't sure why he was saying this, but it was coming to him clearly.

"But, but… _why_?" she asked. "What is all this about? What do you know—_hell_—who _are_ you?"

"I wish I could tell you," he replied, "but, maybe in a few years, you'll have a better idea." He gave her a brief smile and then raised his head to all the other civilians who had congregated at the spot. "The same goes for all of you!" he spoke to them. "Whatever you had planned, let it lie and leave London! I don't know what's going to happen, but you must go, and as soon as possible!" This earned him a hushed muttering from them all, but he back away, and Kitty advanced.

"Hold on!" she ordered, not at all fond of any of this. "You can't go yet! How am I, how are _we_ supposed to believe you?" And yet, she _did_ believe him. But if he was right… what exactly was going to happen?

"If you leave, you'll be safe," he reiterated. "I don't know any more than that. You have to spread the word. I can't do this on my own." He smiled at her again, turned, and disappeared into thin air. She gasped. That was magic! There was no other explanation!

"Magic…" she murmured. _He's a magician, but… but…_ She drew a breath, shook her head, and ran off for the art shop.

---

John Mandrake, or Nathaniel, like all spirits, could not teleport. If he could, perhaps some of what was going to happen could have been prevented, but he was not above science and magic. Although, he could, of course, bend them to his will, but that would not help him. Not when he was racing against time.

He knew his destination, and it didn't help that it was possibly at the other end of the city. Even with his enhanced agility and endurance, he was not as fast as he would have liked to be.

He was sprinting for his life, and he cut across the street quickly. He had managed to diminish his aura and make himself invisible to humans and extremely weak spirits, so anyone coming at him would obviously not see him. Such was the case now, and, not wanting to repeat what had just occurred minutes before, he leaped clear of the car in a single, fluid bound and landed on the sidewalk. He continued moving.

Mandrake was aware that all of his actions were most likely being observed and then reported, and he had no way of knowing if the marid from earlier was on his trail at the moment. Chances are, it was, and it knew his birth name. The odds were most definitely against him, but he would face them with all he could muster.

After what seemed like too long, he arrived at the city library, and he paid the security guard no heed as he walked in.

The guard felt a short, weak breeze pass by, and the double-doors of the library opened. He did not notice it at first, but then he looked back and saw that they were already closing. Frowning, he shrugged it off.

_Now, where to start..._ The library was huge, and Mandrake didn't have nearly enough time to filter through all the volumes that were present. All he needed was information, information on a certain marid.

He had visited the library on a couple of occasions in the past, and fortunately he knew where to head. It would take time to locate one spirit out of many, but this was a _marid_—surely there were not many recorded in any text.

Oh, but there _were_.

_This is ridiculous!_ he thought in agitation after flipping through the umpteenth volume. He'd allowed himself to be visible, and only because who knows what people will do upon witnessing a book floating in the air.

_Varian… that was what the marid called itself. If so, then it has been summoned previously. There must be _something

And then, he found it.

'_VARIAN: Low-class Marid of the rare Water element. Due to its element, it is resistant to most common magic and, notably, Afrits. Was one of the many demons slain by the demon-killer, Banou of Persia.'_

Mandrake was at first disappointed by the low amount of information he was give, but he understood why upon reading it. This Varian had been supposedly killed, by who he was not entirely sure. He did not recall ever hearing of a "Banou of Persia", but it could not be ruled out as possible. But if the marid had been destroyed, how was it possible it could still be alive?

_Maybe it's a different spirit,_ Mandrake thought quickly, but he dismissed it; no two spirits had the same name. The spirit's name was what truly confined them to the earthly realm, so that could not be altered or changed at the core.

_Nevertheless,_ he thought as he placed the book back in its place,_ the marid's still here. And I still have to think of a way to get it out of the way._ Truthfully, Mandrake was more than concerned with the fact that the spirit was allegedly aligned with the element of water. Never had he read or heard of anything quite like this, and so he was unsure about how to approach the situation. He knew, however, that he had no more time to waste, and confronting the marid would be foolhardy without any type of magical counter at his disposal. At some point, however, he would have to rid himself of it and find out just what was behind this.

Frowning, he left the library and was dismayed to find that it was raining.

---

Dark storm clouds were brewing overhead by the time Nathaniel found Bartimaeus idling by a warehouse nearby, the djinni waving as the boy neared. "Took you long enough," it said, but Nathaniel remained silent. "What? Cat got your tongue? You know, they didn't just make that phrase up; I've seen it a couple of times."

"Be quiet," Nathaniel ordered suddenly. "If he really is me, then I should be able to control you as well."

"Hmm, I'm not sure about that," Bartimaeus responded, "but why would you? You're just a kid, hardly able to even control an imp, I'm sure."

"I told you to be quiet!" the boy repeated, and the spirit shrugged and stepped away. Nathaniel wandered away, squeezed his eyes shut, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He suddenly just wanted to go home, to forget about it all. He wanted to be sketching with Ms. Lutyens again, or watching Mrs. Underwood bake. Something familiar, something he could associate with. And there was no way he could proceed with his plans, to summon Bartimaeus to steal Lovelace's amulet and then return it, to give him a jolt. But the djinni was with him, here and now, all because of the young man that had so abruptly shoved himself into his life. _His life_!

"…You know, I'm a pretty good conversation partner. If you feel like getting something off your chest, I'm all ears. Literally, too, if you want."

Nathaniel could feel his eyes tearing now, for whatever reason. He turned to Bartimaeus and shook his head. "Did you, did you find whatever it was that was following us?"

"Oh. That." Bartimaeus sighed and crossed Ptolemy's hands behind his head. "Yes, I did, and it's not good. It was a marid." Nathaniel gaped, and Bartimaeus nodded. "Exactly."

"A marid…" Nathaniel muttered, folding his arms. "Could it be the demon that was mentioned in the newspaper? If it is…"

"Whether or not it is or it isn't doesn't matter." Ptolemy walked forward. "Look, it's going to rain. Don't you think you've been running around long enough? You're cats or whatever are probably getting worried by now."

"I don't own any cats…" Nathaniel whispered under his breath, tired and frustrated by the djinni's antics. It did not help that it had changed into a rather slim cat and was circling his legs and mewing constantly.

"_Enough_!" he yelled, and he kicked out at it halfheartedly. The cat lurched back and hissed before changing back to Ptolemy.

"What's got _your_ knickers so wound up? _Really_!"

"Just, just… fine." Nathaniel sighed. "I don't care anymore. You can do what you want; I'm leaving." He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and started off. Bartimaeus made no effort to stop him.

---

The weather was worsening, but Quentin Makepeace enjoyed some rain every now-and-again. He had been sitting outside, working on a draft of his latest brainchild when it had begun drizzling and then pouring, so he had been forced to move to the back patio of his estate. He was having quite a bit of trouble with a certain segment of his manuscript when a red-haired woman appeared in the midst of his garden and approached.

"Mr. Makepeace, sir," she greeted monotonously, and he looked up.

"Oh, Varian," he said curtly, having been especially irritated by his writer's block. He set his pen and parchment down on his lap before crafting a smile. "Well, you've returned rather speedily. What have you discovered about our friend?"

"Not much new information," the marid answered, and his expression darkened. "However, he has employed the assistance of a djinni."

"A djinni is of no relevance," Makepeace retorted. "It can be dealt with easily by you, I'm sure, should it come to it. Now then, have you anything else to report, for you have caught me at a very irritable time."

"My apologies," it replied. "I have discovered where he has taken up residence."

Makepeace elated quickly. "Ah, yes! That is much better! No more of this foolishness—I can meet with him myself." He laughed shortly, and Varian went on.

"He is residing at the home of Arthur Underwood, sir."

Makepeace furrowed his brow and tapped his pen against the parchment. "Underwood? How… _interesting_… but, then again, Underwood is nothing to worry about. He's an imitation. Not worth even a passing glance, but if our friend is with him…" Makepeace contemplated this and then smiled coldly. "Go there, Varian. I would like you to find our friend and bring him to the Tower."

"The tower? The Tower of London? Why there?" she queried, mildly surprised by his choice.

"Well, from what you have told me, having him just anywhere won't do, especially _here_. I will set up our meeting; all you need worry about is finding him, but that shouldn't be a problem."

"But sir…" Varian said. "What of Underwood? He will resist."

"Underwood has no place in this tale, I'm afraid," Makepeace said. "Kill him and anyone who stands in your way. Not much of a loss, if you ask me." He tittered.

---

Kitty ran as fast as she possibly could, both her head and her heart heavy with doubt. She could not explain it, but she _did_ trust Mandrake. The only problem was that there was virtually nothing at all to base this trust _on_. Pure logic argued that she really had no idea who he was—he was a magician, in fact! She was so caught up in her thoughts that she was unaware of her surroundings, and so she had no clue a boy was walking in her way.

She rammed into him, throwing both of them to the pavement. Something slim and gold flew out his left coat pocket as he hit the ground, and it slid out into the street. The boy was quick in realizing what had just happened, and when he saw the item lying in the street he dove for it. He managed to grasp it, but as Kitty rose she spotted a car speeding right in their direction. She grabbed the boy and pulled him back, just narrowly missing the vehicle as it went by. The boy fell on his side, but he was only staring at the disc in his hands, for the moment frozen by it.

Kitty regained her composure and stood up, dusting herself off as she did so. "What the hell was that?" she blurted. "You could've gotten killed!" The boy blinked, glanced at her, and then to the disc in his hand, and then back at her. He scrambled up and stuffed it in his pocket, and Kitty found herself wondering just what exactly it was.

"Hey!" she said. "Are you even listening?"

"You don't need to yell," he replied softly, meeting her gaze. For a brief second, Kitty thought she saw John Mandrake in that face, but she realized that it was most definitely not Mandrake. It was a scrawny kid wearing a coat that seemed just a tad oversized for his form.

"What were you doing?" Kitty questioned, having calmed a little. "Do you have any idea how close that was?"

"I was gathering what belonged to me, that's all," he stated before turning and beginning to walk off abruptly.

"W-Wait!" she called after him, and impulsively grabbed his arm. "Hold on, please!"

"What is it?" he asked her tiredly, looking back at her as he did so. Kitty found that she had no clue as to why she had stopped him, but the words that came out of her mouth seemed to be serving their own purposes.

"Do you, um, do you know what part of London we're in?" He wrinkled his brow, perplexed, but answered anyway.

"We're in lower London, I believe. Besides, who goes around not even knowing where they are?" He made to start off again, but she once more grabbed his arm. "_Now_ what?" he demanded, shrugging her off quickly. "Look, I thank you for saving me, but I have to go."

"I _know_ that!" she practically yelled in frustration. "Just wait, please!"

This time he stopped, and she drew a breath. "You probably don't have a clue, but, you wouldn't happen to know where the closest bus stop is, would you?"

"Bus stop?" He thought about this, and nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I was heading for one, myself." His former preoccupation seemed to disappear as he spoke.

"Um…" Kitty brushed some stray strands of hair out her eyes. "Could I walk with you there? It'll be faster, for me at least, and it's starting to rain." Something in the back of her mind was telling her, no, _commanding_ her to stay with this boy, and, while she had no idea why, she would, even if it meant dragging him by the neck to Mr. Pennyfeather's art shop.

She eyed him hopefully, but, she saw, he did not seem to really be bothered by it. He shrugged weakly. "I suppose so, but…" He glanced up at the sky and then back to her. "What's your name?"

"It's Kitty," she replied, with hardly any hesitation. "Yours?"

The boy was stony-faced. "My name…?" He sighed and answered, "It's Nathaniel. Nice to meet you, Kitty."

---

Bartimaeus was flying dully through the air in its cherished form of a crow, when it saw him. John Mandrake. Nathaniel. Whatever. He was running, _fast_, and Bartimaeus noticed something odd. Mandrake's aura, which had been contorted and blotched, was now clear and smooth. And _bright_. It radiated around him, and the djinni was sure that if it was any brighter _anyone_ would be able to see it.

Regardless, Mandrake was headed somewhere, and so, wondering briefly if it was for the best, Bartimaeus flew after him, flapping its wings in the rain.

---

Mandrake was running even faster than before, and now his hearing had even improved. He moved like a wraith through the alleyways and streets of London, queerly suspicious that something was wrong at the Underwood household. He would not call it any type of foresight, but something was telling him to go, and to go quickly.

He just prayed that he would not be too late. If Mrs. Underwood was in any danger, or if even Mr. Underwood was being threatened, he felt he had to be there. If it was the marid, he would have to take his chances.

It was raining fervently now, and if it continued light flooding was to be expected. Walter sloshed and splashed at his feet, and he was drenched. He barreled forward and pushed himself even faster.

He was close now, he knew, and then he saw it. Tendrils of darkness, rising to join and mesh with that of the sky. He made a frantic leap and landed a little ways from the Underwood home, and was horrified to see that it was _burning_. And from the looks of it, it had just occurred. "No…" he muttered. "No, not again… Not because of me…" Steadying himself, he rushed into the blazing building, prepared for the worst. And from above, Bartimaeus, watched him do so.

**END CHAPTER EIGHT**


	9. Chapter Nine

_Resurface_

_Chapter Nine_

By the time Arthur Underwood had arrived at his home, the weather had taken a severe turn for the worse. The city was caught in a gray haze of rain and depression. Underwood himself was not in the best of moods, either. This "rogue demon" business had created such a stir at the ministry, and he had to get away. He stormed from his car and into the house.

"Martha!" he called, grumbling. His wife was not to be found in her usual place within the kitchen, or in any of the immediate area. He set aside his parasol, gave his beard a quick stroke, and headed for his study. Along the way, his lenses picked up something.

The room where their guest had been staying—John Mandrake. From underneath the door there slithered a peculiar yellow mist, ethereal yet very noticeable. He frowned and opened the door, gasping at what he saw.

The room itself was in shambles, some of the furniture having been toppled over by who-knows-what. In the center of the floor was a pentacle, drawn neatly, and a scorch mark had taken up residence within. Underwood licked his lips, and then gritted his teeth. At that, the room was covered in that fading yellow mist. He had ordered his demon to cast a Glamour, to hide the evidence.

This Mandrake fellow had somehow gathered the materials to perform a summoning, and it appeared that he had, in fact, called forth a demon of uncertain power. He had to have. _From my study, then_, the magician thought. He would have spotted the young man attempting to gather the materials, of that he was sure, and since he had not witnessed anything disturbing about his behavior, the only possible option left was that Mandrake had stolen into his office and taken the supplies.

And he _succeeded_.

Underwood clenched his fists in silent rage, his knuckles turning white. "Martha!" he called again, more forcefully this time.

"Yes, Arthur?" came the exasperated reply as Mrs. Underwood rounded the corner and peered at her husband. "You're home early. Did something—,"

"Forget about the ministry and come over here. It seems as though this Mandrake has been up to some business behind our backs."

"What?" she asked, treading forward towards him when the there was a stern knocking at the door. Underwood's head snapped in that direction, curiosity and anger mixed into his expression, and he headed for the door.

---

John Mandrake—Nathaniel—set foot into the burning inferno of the Underwood household, his heart torn-in-two. _If I had gotten here sooner, just a few minutes before…_

He was brought back to when he had been at the mercy of Lovelace and Jabor, watching the Amulet of Samarkand glimmer in the crimson light. There was no Amulet now, though, no Lovelace, no Jabor—no, not even Nathaniel himself. There was only a stranger by the name of John Mandrake. But he was not alone.

"Do you see now, Nathaniel? Is this not enough to persuade you to come with me?" Varian approached, her countenance seemingly translucent in the light. "It will not stop here. This is only the beginning."

"The beginning…" Mandrake muttered with a dry chuckle. "Am I so important that my acquirement would justify _murder_? These people deserved nothing of the sort!"

"Alas, I have killed them," the marid stated nonchalantly. "Once again, Nathaniel, you have failed. History only serves to repeat itself. What happens once will happen again."

Mandrake stepped forward, his aura growing even brighter. His expression was hard, his jaw set. "No, that doesn't have to be true!"

"Then what do you say to this?" Varian inquired. "Look around you, bear witness to the destruction of your childhood. How much more of this would you like to endure? You do not belong here." It sighed and came forward. "My master may be able to assist you, to return you to your own time. Look what you have brought upon these poor people…"

Mandrake fumed and said, "What _I_ have brought upon them? Your master decided their fate from the very beginning, and you complied." He drew a breath. "I refuse."

Varian's normally neutral composition flickered with the slightest of irritation. "You are blind, Nathaniel, but I am sorry to inform you that refusal is not an option. You _will_ come with me."

Mandrake smiled wanly. "My answer still stands."

The marid stared at him and shook its head disappointedly. "Then you leave me no choice." It raised a hand, and Mandrake managed to dodge with his newfound nimbleness as the wall behind him was incinerated in a flash of green blaze.

From his perch on a tree, Bartimaeus had been listening intently before having been forced to flutter away due to the Detonation. He mumbled some curses and searched for a new vantage point.

Before Mandrake could even turn his head, another blast was heading his way. He rolled, surprising himself, and watched as more of the house was destroyed.

"Surrender!" the marid said, preparing another Detonation. "You stand no chance of escaping!" Mandrake rose, facing the spirit.

"I wasn't planning on escaping," he told it gravely. The marid allowed its hands to fall limp, the verdant light around them dissipating.

"Then what were you planning to do?" it taunted. "You do not intend to stand against me, I'm sure."

Mandrake shrugged. "Hmm, why not?" He smirked. "I've already survived dying once—no, twice. I don't see what the harm in it is."

Varian furrowed its brow. "Now is not the time to be misguided by overconfidence. You have no idea what could potentially happen—"

"No," Mandrake cut in, "but I'm willing to find out!" He rushed at the marid, witnessing its aura intensify in surprise. It raised its hands and began to conjure a new spell. His hands flew out and grasped the spirit's wrists, and suddenly a powerful force attacked his body.

All at once both of them were nearly thrown back, the mingling of their auras creating a great stir. Bartimaeus watched with heightening interest as a white blaze emanated from the home.

Mandrake met the eyes of the marid, and saw that its essence was suffering to a greater extent than his. Its eye color changed into several different hues, its crimson hair fluxed into cobalt, and the beautiful woman for a moment was a writhing mass of darkness.

_This… this feeling…_

Mandrake flinched and reaffirmed his grasp, fuchsia sparkles spiraling up his arm in varying lengths. The words had floated through his mind with a startling softness. They were not his own, and, yet, he could not help but agree. He felt as he did when he had bonded with Bartimaeus, and the two had become one. His body was lighter than air.

_What are you trying to say?_ he communicated back, focusing his thoughts into a stream. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him.

_It feels the same as it did that time; you are the same as she was!_

_As who? The one who defeated you? Is that what you mean?_

Suddenly another jolt ran through him, and Varian's countenance reaffirmed itself. Mandrake flinched, taken aback, and fell to his knees.

_You underestimate me, Nathaniel. Your new state of being is not without its weaknesses!_

Images flashed through his mind, places, faces, all accompanied by a searing pain. Another wave passed through him and he lost control, collapsing to the floor. His aura faded and he was left unconscious.

"You are beginning to test my patience," the marid said, pulling him up. "But you are interesting, nonetheless." It dragged him out of the burning house and into the light, where a weak drizzle had begun to fall. The branch above rustled and a pigeon flew down to meet them.

"You, again," Varian remarked with a faint hint of amusement, watching the bird become a boy. "What do you want? Do you intend to interfere?"

"Well, no, not really," Bartimaeus said, chuckling. "That man you have dangling by the waist just happens to be my master."

"I am aware," the marid replied, "though you have no reason to fear; my master means this young man no harm."

"Even so," the djinni said, grimacing, "it's nothing good."

Varian let out a hollow laugh. "Perhaps, but I have no say in the matter. Like you, I am bound to a contract. We are just slaves, nothing more. We fulfill our purpose and are cast off back into the void until another magician summons us to do his bidding. We do not share loyalties, Bartimaeus."

"I can't deny that," Bartimaeus responded quietly. The marid passed it, dragging along Mandrake's limp body.

"He will be at the Tower," Varian said. "However, you are forewarned: should we happen to meet again, I will be forced to destroy you."

"Yep," the djinni laughed nervously. "Don't worry, I wouldn't count on it."

The façade of a woman smiled softly and suddenly vanished, Mandrake with her. Bartimaeus watched them go.

---

Kitty let out a long, wavering sigh beside Nathaniel, whose arm was propped up against the window of the bus, his face turned to look out at the rain. She glanced at him—his eyes were distant, vague. He seemed tired.

"So, where are you getting off?" she queried coyly, and the question seemed to jostle him from his thoughts. He looked up, blinked, and stood.

"Here, actually."

The bus slowed down near another stop, and Nathaniel along with several other passengers made to get off.

"Wait!" Kitty exclaimed, grabbing his arm. "You can't! I, uh, I need you to come with me!"

Nathaniel spun around to her, tearing his arm from her grip. "Excuse me," he said, aggravated. "I thank you for helping me before, but I have to get back. It's important."

"No, please," she pleaded. "There's something telling me I have to stick with you. These last few days have been weird—_very_ weird. Look, something's going to happen in the city!"

"Would you keep your voice down?" he scolded, glancing about at some surprised faces. "Kitty, was it? Listen, I don't know what your problem is, but I can't help you. I have to go." He turned and left the bus, but she chased after him.

"Wait, damn you!" she yelled, pulling his arm and jerking him back. "You're coming with me, and that's that!"

"I told you, I can't!" Nathaniel shoved her off. "I have to get back home!" Fuming, he turned back and felt a raindrop slam into his eye. He wiped his face in annoyance and continued on down the street; Kitty cursed and followed.

Soon a mass of voices reached them. Nathaniel furrowed his brow and craned his head; just around the block, crowds were gathered, and a little farther away the sky was filled with black.

_That's my house,_ he thought plainly before the realization dawned on him. "That's my house!" He rushed forward, attempting to break through the crowd. Crews of officers and firemen tended to the dying flames and the scene.

"Mrs. Underwood!" he cried, pushing past people failingly. "Mrs. Underw—" Something pulled him back and out of the throng, far away from the throng of onlookers. He fell onto his back and let out a disgruntled groan; he opened his eyes and saw the visage of Ptomely staring down at him.

"You," he blurted, scrambling back up on his feet. "What are you doing? The house is burning! Mrs. Underwood—"

"They're both gone," Bartimaeus said blandly. The boy merely stared at him, dumbfounded.

"What? _What_?" His eyes glistened in the rain.

"The varian killed them before setting fire to the house. It was waiting for Mandrake."

Nathaniel reared back in shock; he lashed out at the djinni but stumbled onto a knee. "Why didn't you do anything?" he demanded. "You could have saved them!"

"Sorry to disappoint you," said Bartimaeus, "but a measly little djinni like myself, although amazingly powerful in my own right, is nowhere near a match for a marid. I wouldn't have been much help."

Kitty reached the end of the street and caught sight of the two and the crowd. She rushed over. "Hey, what—"

"And John?" Nathaniel asked. "What happened to Mandrake?"

She froze, surprised. "John Mandrake? You know him?"

Bartimaeus glanced at her briefly, bemused, and then returned to the boy. "The marid took him."

"Marid?" Kitty asked. "Are you a demon?"

Bartimaeus looked to her once again, sighing in frustration. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but I am _not_ a demon!" He cleared his throat and added quickly, "I am a djinni."

"Never mind that," Nathaniel urged. "What does that marid want with him? Where did it take him?"

"I don't know why," Bartimaeus replied. "He's at the Tower of London."

"The Tower?" Nathaniel breathed. He wiped at his cheeks and shuffled away, distraught.

"Hey, what's going on?" Kitty glanced between them, earnest. "Would one of you care to explain what's happening here? What about John Mandrake?"

The djinni turned to her. "Oh, I forgot about you—_who_ are you, again?"

"Kitty Jones," she replied quickly. "Look, I need to find John Mandrake. You're saying he's at the Tower of London?"

"Yes," said Bartimaeus, examining the girl from top-to-bottom. "You don't look too well, Kitty Jones. Would you like a balloon?" The djinni spanned Ptolemy's fingers and a pleasant, round, pink balloon appeared. "What? You don't like it?" Bartimaeus stretched the balloon into a long string and then folded it into the shape of a dog. "How about now? I think it looks pretty nice, all things considered."

"What are you _doing_?" she cried, swiping at the balloon and causing it to dissipate into fine smoke.

Bartimaeus frowned. "Didn't anyone ever teach you some manners? You could at least show some gratitude."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't care about that! I have to find John Mandrake!"

"Alright, alright," Bartimaeus said dismissively, waving a hand at her. "But we can't talk out here; the two of you are soaked. Let's find some place a little drier." It glanced to Nathaniel. "Hey, what are you moping around for? Let's go."

Nathaniel sat silently on the curb, his head bowed, his hands limp in his lap. He looked up slowly at the djinni. "Okay."

---

The rain had died down to a light drizzle, and the sky had darkened to a murky indigo. Nathaniel wordlessly watched the city lights of London twinkle from his place at the edge of the platform; around him the construction site groaned.

"So you see, that's why I have to find him," Kitty explained to Bartimaeus, now a tabby, some ways away. "According to him, something's going to happen in the city, and it could be dangerous!"

"I heard you the first time," replied Bartimaeus, licking a paw casually.

"Then why aren't you doing anything?" she demanded. "He"—she swallowed hard—"_summoned_ you, didn't he? Aren't you obligated to help him?"

"Normally, yes," the djinni said, moving on to the left paw, "but not necessarily in this case. The kid over there could technically dismiss me."

"Huh?" Kitty glanced back at the despondent Nathaniel. "What do you mean? How is that possible?"

The cat looked up at her, licking its mouth. "Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"No, it's alright," Nathaniel said suddenly without turning back to them. "She deserves to know if she's already met with him."

"Know what?" she asked, looking between the two.

"Mr. John Mandrake," Bartimaeus began, unfolding over the floor, "which is not really his name, by the way, is actually from the future."

Kitty stared at the djinni, blinking. "The future?"

"Yes. I didn't quite believe it myself, at first, but I do feel like I've met him." Bartimaeus yawned silently. "He claims to have summoned me before, but I don't know. Where I come from time isn't really a constant. Everything always seems to just be going forward, regardless."

"You'd remember him, though," Kitty said. "But how did he end up here? That doesn't make any sense!"

"Beats me." Bartimaeus yawned again and laid its head out on a paw, closing its eyes. Kitty sat down and hugged her knees to her chest. Truthfully, John Mandrake did feel very familiar to her, for some unknown reason. Had they met, once? Did she know him in another time?

She looked up. "Wait, so if that's really the case, and you mentioned before that he"—she gestured back at Nathaniel—"could dismiss you—"

"That's right," the djinni said tiredly. "That little punk is Mandrake—pre-puberty, though."

Kitty looked back at him in wonder; Nathaniel still quietly sat at the edge, surveying the city. The sounds of the streets filled the empty silence between them.

"We have to save him," he said suddenly, drawing both Kitty and Bartimaeus' attention. "We have to get Mandrake back."

"He's right," Kitty said. "Who knows what they'll do to him."

"Oh, of course," Bartimaeus said. "A djinni and two human brats storm the Tower of London and valiantly save John Mandrake! It sounds great on paper, sure. It would probably make a good movie plot."

"We have to try," Nathaniel persisted, turning to them. "The Tower may be heavily guarded, but there must be a way we can get inside."

"Even if you get inside, how are you going to get out?" Bartimaeus rolled onto its back. "Listen, they're not going to kill him—at least not yet."

"We can't take that risk," the boy went on. "He's too valuable. Whoever wants him knows he's from the future!"

"It's just not worth it," Bartimaeus said. "You'll never make it."

"If we have a plan, maybe Mandrake can get out himself." The two looked to Kitty.

"What do you mean?" Nathaniel asked.

"If we can cause a distraction, maybe Mandrake can escape on his own. He can do it, I'm sure!"

Where the cat had lain now sat Ptolemy. "You have a point. Even though he's human, he's incredibly powerful."

"We'll need a plan," said Nathaniel. A steely resolved had formed in his eyes; Kitty saw a semblance of Mandrake in his face.

**END CHAPTER NINE**

_A/N: All it took was a little bugging, after all._


	10. Chapter Ten

_Resurface_

_Chapter Ten_

Slowly he came to; his senses returned to him and he opened his eyes, his body numb and lifeless. Darkness surrounded him on all sides, suffocating in its enormity. He mustered his strength and reached out, but his hand singed with a stinging pain and he reared back. His eyes gradually adjusted, and he could faintly make out the four translucent walls around him, trapping him in a small space just large enough to pace around within.

Lights slammed on, bright and vicious, above him. He shielded his eyes with an arm and stumbled back, bumping into the magical wall and crying out in pain as he was bounced back into the center of his prison.

"I apologize if it's too confining," a voice tittered at the far end of the room. "It was the only sure way to keep you interred. I wouldn't want you frolicking around on your own, now."

John Mandrake ground his teeth and stepped forward. "…Makepeace?" he mumbled.

From across the chamber, Quentin Makepeace laughed. "Oh, you know me? How strange—I don't believe we've ever met, actually, Mr. John Mandrake."

They stood at opposite ends of a long, dull, white room. Makepeace smirked, hands behind his back, watching Mandrake intently. Off to the side was the familiar red-haired visage of Varian. Mandrake narrowed his eyes.

"No, we haven't met, at least not yet," he said. He glanced at Varian and then brought his gaze back to the playwright. "So you're the one orchestrating this."

"Indeed." Makepeace gestured to the marid. "I caught wind of you from Varian, and I just couldn't resist finding out more. I've heard so much." He motioned for his servant to join him. "I'm very eager to see you without anything in the way."

Varian placed a hand on his shoulder and Makepeace started, his smirk fading into an expression of pure surprise and awe. "Incredible," he breathed. "Your aura is shining; it is unlike anything I have ever seen!"

He laughed. "Just what_ are_ you, Mr. Mandrake, a demon, or a human?" He giggled and clapped his hands together. "In fact, you remind of another acquaintance of mine. Granted, of course, he is nowhere near as splendorous."

Mandrake raised his hands to his face and looked over them briefly. "I don't know, myself. I have no idea what's happened to me."

"Well, it must obviously have something to do with how you came across this place!" Makepeace exclaimed excitedly. "You are not from this time. Somehow you broke through the barrier and ended up here."

"I didn't mean to," Mandrake said. "It was accidental. By all accounts, I should be dead."

"Is that so?" The playwright laughed again. "Perhaps you are! Whatever the case, by coming here you have irrevocably changed things! History itself has been rewritten!"

He stalked forward. "You can understand your ultimate value, Mr. Mandrake. With your knowledge and foresight of future events, why, you can bend time itself to your will. You could perfectly manipulate the order of the world in your favor."

"There's no point to that," Mandrake replied dryly. "History repeats itself. I know that now. I cannot change anything, and I shouldn't. Besides, I have no desire for power. I only want to set things right."

"Set things right?" Makepeace shook his head in disappointment. "There is nothing wrong here, Mr. Mandrake. There is only potential—limitless potential. Just imagine it: together, you and I could topple the minister and his petty government. We could rule over Britain, perhaps even the world!"

"I've seen what your ambitions have net you," Mandrake said. "You almost destroyed London in your mad claim to power!"

Makepeace sighed. "Oh, but John, don't you see? Any disaster can be averted with you here. And not only are you knowledgeable, but with your newfound power no one could stand against you! With my support, you would be unstoppable!"

Mandrake grinned, himself. "There was a time when I would have enjoyed the idea of rising to the top—but there's nothing there for me now."

The playwright balled his fists and stomped on the floor angrily. "Why are you so stubborn? You are beyond the affairs of humans and demons alike! You have the opportunity to rise above it all, to rule supreme! Not even Gladstone himself could hold a candle to you!"

Mandrake gasped in surprise at the name. "Gladstone's staff!" he exclaimed. "That's why—"

Makepeace furrowed his brow, confused. "The staff? What use is that to you? It pales in comparison to the power flowing through just your _fingers_! It is better off remaining in the vault here than being in your presence!"

"What was that?" Mandrake asked, coming forward again. "The staff is here? It's already been excavated?"

This comment caused Makepeace to pause briefly. "What do you mean? Gladstone's tomb was exhumed several years ago by a trio of grave robbers. It was placed here for protection. Anyone would know that." He cocked his head quizzically. "Do you mean to say, that were you come from, it has yet to be removed?"

Mandrake gave no reply, instead blurting, "I have to find that staff. I must go back."

"Wait!" Makepeace shouted. "You will stay right here! Willingly or not, you _will_ render your power to my cause!"

"No," said Mandrake, shaking his head. "You can't threaten me, Makepeace. After all, you said it yourself: not even Gladstone could match up to me now." He extended his arms out and placed his hands on the surface of his prison, feeling a scorching pain soar through his body.

"What are you doing?" Makepeace yelled in horror. Even Varian watched on, astonished, as a white radiance emanated from Mandrake's body and flowed through his arms into the wall, filling the small space with blinding light. "Stop!" screamed Makepeace, but his shrill cry was deafened as the prison exploded, shattering like glass into numerous pieces.

The brilliant glow faded, leaving Mandrake standing in the midst of the destruction, the fragments at his feet vanishing along with his aura. His fact set determinedly, he approached Makepeace.

"Stay back!" the man stammered, terrified, staggering back. He thrashed an arm out in desperation. "Varian! Stop him!"

The marid tensed, prepared to intervene, but Mandrake simply raised a hand. "I don't mean you any harm," he told Makepeace. "I only need to find Gladstone's staff. You said it was here."

"Yes," Makepeace mumbled, fidgeting, turning between his servant and the young man. "It's locked away in the vaults deep within the Tower, but it is heavily guarded. You'll never reach it."

Mandrake merely paid him a glance and hurried to the end of the room, ready to escape. Makepeace let out a furious roar. "Kill him!" he bellowed at Varian. "Don't let him go!"

The marid sprang into action, throwing a Detonation straight for Mandrake. With an unprecedented speed he spun back and caught the green flash with a hand; he brought the other up and the Detonation shimmered and coursed through his aura, firing out the other end. It demolished the wall, throwing rubble and smoke into the chamber. Mandrake disappeared through.

"Go," growled Makepeace. "I want him back, dead or alive. But he does _not_ leave the Tower!"

Varian nodded and walked after him, dark coattails flailing behind.

---

"Well, there it is," Bartimaeus said, pointing at the looming building beyond the river. The trio stood on the bank of the Thames, hidden by the night. Around them London bustled with activity.

"We'll head through the tunnels," Kitty said, drawing two small spheres from her jacket. "I smuggled them out just in case something would happen, but they aren't very strong." She dropped one into Nathaniel's palm. "One for you, one for me. Hopefully we won't need to use them."

Behind them, Bartimaeus stared on, concentrated on the tower. Nathaniel noted his distant demeanor. "What is it?" he asked. "Is it him?"

"I'm not sure," the djinni answered shortly. "There was some sort of spike, but I don't know if he was the one responsible. Maybe he won't need our help after all."

Nathaniel bowed his head, tightening his grip on the sphere. "He's the only thing left," he said quietly. "The Underwoods are dead. I don't have anything else."

Bartimaeus gave him a reluctant pat on the back. "Hey, cheer up, kid. You should look on the bright side of things once in a while."

The boy looked up slowly. "And what exactly _is_ the bright side?"

Bartimaeus tapped Ptomely's chin pensively, shrugging. "I suppose there isn't one. Oh, well, it was worth trying, right?"

"We're wasting time," Kitty cut in hotly, drawing their gazes to her. "Let's go."

"Yes, _ma'am_," the djinni complied, grimacing. Before their eyes, the Egyptian boy vanished and left behind a hulking gargoyle. With a flap of its wide, leathery wings, it rose into the air. "I'll distract the brunt of them from above; you two have you to find a way from below."

"Easier said than done," remarked Nathaniel quietly. "Good luck, Bartimaeus."

The gargoyle turned to him distractedly. "Yes," it sighed and floated higher into the air until it soared away through the darkness.

Kitty turned to the boy and touched his arm briefly. "Now we have to move," she said and dashed onward down the bank. Nathaniel, surprised, stumbled after her. They ran in silence, soon finding a sewer hatch embedded into the side of the incline through the street.

Kitty stuck her fingers through the grating, testing the stability of the hatch. "If we both pull, we should be able to get it off," she whispered. Nathaniel nodded, slipping the sphere into a pocket and taking hold of the grating.

"Okay, ready—"

"Kitty," he said plainly, distracting her.

"Uh, what? What it is?"

"Where did you get them?" he inquired, holding up the sphere. "No regular commoner—_citizen_—would have these."

For a moment she simply stared at him, her jaw tightening. Her brow furrowed in anger. "Shut up," she said, startling him, before turning away. "That's a stupid question. What do you care? Just be happy we have them."

"Yeah. Sorry." He grasped the grating again, but Kitty's sudden giggle lowered his hand. "Now what?"

"I'm just glad it wasn't as stupid," she said, smile fading, "as stupid as asking if we had met before. That's the type of moronic thing that comes up during times like these." She sighed. "If we did, I doubt it was pleasant. You're a magician, and I—well, I didn't think I'd ever be helping a magician."

"You dislike magicians," Nathaniel said, a statement more than a question. "You're against the government?"

"They hurt a friend," she replied curtly. "That's all. That was enough." She shook her head. "And that's enough for that. Come on, help me."

---

Mandrake burst through a door and into another dark corridor, ignorant of what sector or even floor of the Tower he was trapped within. During his time in the government, he had only visited the place a handful of times and never for very long. He contemplated which direction to take when suddenly he heard footfalls behind him.

"Nathaniel, enough of this game," Varian said, cocking her head. "Do not resist. I have no desire to kill you."

Mandrake ground his teeth and hastily ran off again, prompting the marid to glide after him, feet barely off the floor. He rushed around a corner and came to the abrupt end of the hall, marked by a door. He made to open it but was interrupted by the brutal blast of a Detonation; he fell through the rubble and scorching fire and landed on a small balcony.

Varian approached apprehensively, lowering its hand. "You survived a Detonation from that range," the woman murmured, watching Mandrake rise to his feet, his coat burnt and torched but he relatively unscathed. He tore off the tattered cloth and glanced behind him down the Tower.

"There's nowhere else to run," the marid said. "You have exhausted your options."

"You don't understand," Mandrake wheezed, coughing weakly; he gathered his bearings, trying to recover from the attack. "Gladstone's tomb was never invaded at this time! His staff was never stored away in the Tower! Don't you see? This is not my past after all!"

He stood straight, his breath slowing. "I don't know what this place is, but I must leave!"

"My master can assist in returning you," Varian said. "All you need do is assist him in turn."

Mandrake smirked. "What good am I to him now? How can I foresee the future of an era I never lived?"

The marid raised its hands, the palms crackling suddenly with bluish light. "Then you are a liability, a mistake that must be erased—"

A series of explosions below caught their attention. Mandrake looked down to see a humanoid figure rushing through the air towards him, a troop of winged creatures pursuing it. Surveillance orbs circled the spectacle erratically.

"Bartimaeus!" Mandrake exclaimed, leaping off the balcony and into the air. He plunged downward, the wind whipping at his face; the gargoyle lashed out and caught his arm, jerking him up.

"You sure do know how to make an exit!" the djinni yelled over the wind. "All the easier for me, though! _Man_—"it crunched up its face in discomfort—"did anyone tell you you're heavier than a newborn elephant?"

"Sorry," Mandrake laughed, "I've been eating more lately!" He looked back over his shoulder at the Tower. "You have to take me back! I have to get inside!"

"What? But you just got _out_!"

"It's important!" Mandrake shouted back. "I have to get the staff! It's in there somewhere!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the djinni responded, "but what about our dear friends here? They don't seem willing to let us through without a kiss and a hug!"

"Just fly me in low! We'll be fine!"

"Well, whatever you say!" Bartimaeus cried, and the two swept down back towards the Tower. The pursuing guards fired off a volley of spells; Mandrake clutched the gargoyle's arm, and a sparkling, white aura enveloped both of them.

The djinni shook, stunned, but quickly recovered. The spells all fizzled away harmlessly upon coming into contact with the aura. Mandrake faced forward. "Fire a Detonation, quickly!" The djinni released the blast and blew a hole through a lower floor of the Tower. With a burst of strength, it flew Mandrake in close enough and hurtled him through.

The young man fell onto his stomach, grunting, and quickly stood up. He turned back to see the djinni focused above itself, where their pursuers fell like flies around the approaching crimson-haired woman, floating ominously down towards them.

"What are you doing? Enjoying the view?" Bartimaeus demanded, glancing sideways at the young man. "Hurry and go!"

Mandrake hesitated and then nodded before running further into the building. Bartimaeus watched him, its aura tingling with trepidation; Varian ceased its descent, gazing down at the djinni.

"You are stubborn," it said, "but I will offer you a chance—move aside and your life will be spared."

"That doesn't seem very fitting," Bartimaeus said. "You're the one who told me he was here. You didn't want me to come after all? I'm hurt." The gargoyle pouted childishly, garnering a hollow smile from the marid.

"I am disappointed, Bartimaeus."

In a flash, the djinni arched towards its opponent, launching two successive Detonations. Varian waved a hand and brushed the verdant bursts effortlessly. The free hand rose and slammed down; a bolt of cobalt pierced the air. Bartimaeus hurriedly flew to the side, barely avoiding the full brunt of the attack. The spell clipped its wing and sent it spiraling out of control.

The marid gave chase, preparing another spell. Bartimaeus hastily flung a fireball its way, and surprisingly the attack connected, exploding in a puff of smoke. The djinni managed to gain control of its wing and floated, with difficulty.

It watched carefully, the smoke clearing to reveal nothing but empty sky. Bartimaeus started but was too late—a sleek, feminine hand wrapped itself around the gargoyle's throat and hoisted it above the woman's head.

"You have wasted enough of my time," Varian said, its free hand balling into a fist and striking down. Another bolt of blue lightning shot through Bartimaeus' wing, and the marid released the djinni to fall like a lump through the night air.

---

Nathaniel and Kitty treaded the murky depths of the sewers, hearing, beyond the muffled noises of the streets, far-off explosions increasing in volume.

"They're fighting," Kitty thought aloud. "Will that demon be okay?"

"I'm not sure," Nathaniel answered. "He mentioned before that there was a marid about. If that's true—" He shook his head. "There's no use in wondering about it. The important thing right now is to find Mandrake."

They continued until suddenly Nathaniel struck out an arm in Kitty's way. "Hold on, don't go any further."

"Why?" she asked impatiently. "There's nothing there!"

"Yes, there is," he said, squinting; in the dim light his lenses were barely visible. "There's a sensor moving side-to-side. We must be getting close to the Tower." He took her arm and pulled her back. "On my say we'll run, alright?"

"Yes, fine." She held her breath and waited. Nathaniel tensed.

"Go!"

The two charged ahead, missing the faded red line passing through the passage. "Are we clear?" Kitty asked, and Nathaniel peered ahead.

"There are several more, but they're too crowded. I don't think—" He paused. "Wait, they're disappearing. Something's causing them to disappear."

"Well, all the better for us," Kitty said and ran on. Nathaniel followed, watching ahead for more sensors and seeing them, now cluttered together, vanishing one after another.

"Keep going that way!" he said. "It's just a little farther and then we'll be there!" Suddenly after another minute he commanded her to stop. "Here! I can see it! We're under it for sure!"

"Are you sure?" Kitty asked, removing her sphere. After a frenzied nod reassured her, she stepped back, activated the sphere, and threw it to the ceiling of the tunnel, where it detonated in a flare of fiery sparks. Rubble and dust clouded before them.

Kitty looked up once everything had settled; another layer of foundation and floor barred them. "It's no good; give me yours." Nathaniel handed her the sphere and she let it fly up. The explosion gave way to a powerful, lashing wind that tore straight through the foundation.

Kitty looked up again after the blast; the corridor above was empty and dark. "I think it's clear," she remarked, "but you're going to have to give me a boost."

"What do you mean?" Nathaniel queried, joining her.

"It's too high," she said plainly. "How do you expect me to get up there?"

Nathaniel looked from her to the gap and sighed. "Alright. What do I—"

"Get on your knees," she said, pushing him down and stepping upon his shoulders.

"I can't lift you," he stammered, lightly grasping her ankles and trying to stand.

"A little higher," she said, and, once he struggled another inch up, leapt and caught the jagged edge of the foundation and floor. She willed herself up and climbed onto the floor. She made a quick glance up and down the hall. Scattered about were numerous surveillance orbs, all dead and dark. She hurried back and stretched out a hand for Nathaniel.

"Thanks," he breathed, regaining his composure. Upon catching sight of the deactivated surveillance orbs, he walked forward and nudged one with his foot curiously. "They're all out."

"Why are there so many of them?" Kitty asked quietly, stepping over one and then another on her way to his side.

"There must be something valuable down here," he said, glancing down the corridor. "Maybe John is here—maybe he somehow tuned them out."

He started forward, but Kitty stopped him with a question. "They're little demons, aren't they?" she questioned. "Does that mean they're dead?"

"I don't know," Nathaniel told her, "but we can't afford to dawdle here. Come on."

---

Mandrake strode down the hall, his aura glowing and shining a magnificent white. The surveillance orbs floating about reacted to his presence, vibrating strongly, and then unexpectedly stilled as his aura washed over them. They dropped to the floor, thudding like bricks, one-by-one.

Mandrake paused and looked over them in contemplation when a shout stole his attention.

"John!"

Nathaniel and Kitty reached him, both panting breathlessly. He turned to them, partially surprised. "You two? You must have come with Bartimaeus."

"We're here to get you out," Kitty said. "We probably don't have much time—"

"I can't leave," Mandrake told them simply, watching their faces contort in surprise.

"You can't just stay here!" argued Kitty.

Mandrake smiled assuredly. "I appreciate your help, but if I leave I may be forsaking my only chance of returning to where I belong. Besides, you're in grave danger. That marid—"

"You approached _us_," Nathaniel interrupted. He met Mandrake's gaze hard. "I don't know about her, but you ended up on our doorstep; you ate our food, used our bath; you did this all without ever once showing any gratitude—and now you'll just reject our help?

"You brought this upon us! You're the reason they're dead!"

Mandrake looked away, inspiring even more fury in the young Nathaniel, whose eyes shone with tears. "What? Can't you own up to that? Why did you come here in the first place? Why did this have to happen?"

"I don't know," Mandrake replied at last, silencing him. "I don't know why I came here—I don't even where _here_ is, for that matter. I realize that I've been the cause of so much trouble, but that's exactly why I have to seize the opportunity and leave while I still can."

He smiled again and placed a steady hand upon Nathaniel's shoulder. "I know your pain, but you don't have to bear that guilt. I'll be the one to take it—I'll be the one to atone, not you."

He stepped back. "Now you have to go. Find Bartimaeus—and wait for me." His eyes rose and saw Varian standing behind the two, expression blank.

Kitty turned and for a long moment examined the marid. "You're that woman—"

"Please do as he says," it told them quickly. "My business is with him alone."

"That's right," Mandrake said, offering them a smile. "Go."

Nathaniel clenched his fists and reluctantly nodded. "Alright." He hurried past the marid with Kitty in tow; she looked back a final time at the young man and was gone.

"Now," said Varian, raising its hands. "Will you continue to play this game? You cannot escape!"

"You don't have to do this," Mandrake said suddenly. "You are not your master! You can decide for yourself!"

The marid stopped and at this exclamation laughed. "A fleeting spirit, make its own decision? You are a fool, Nathaniel. I am bound by a contract, and I will fulfill it."

Mandrake gave one final push and turned and ran, straining his legs. Behind him he could hear the crackling of an oncoming spell, and suddenly the corridor opened up into a tall, wide chamber, brightly lit and lined with windows of rooms strung with artifacts and other prizes.

He ducked quickly, dodging a blast. Varian entered the room, one hand glowing with azure fire. "Foolish magician," it spat, circling him. "Your foolhardy notions are groundless!"

"No, you are not bound to your master's will!" Mandrake cried, strafing aside as another spell blew through a panel; his eyes quickly trailed over the contents of the chamber, but the staff was nowhere to be seen.

"He summoned me, tore me from my eternal rest," Varian said, both hands enveloped in light. "I am obliged to act out his wishes. It is natural law."

"Natural law? What places Makepeace over you? Demons—_spirits_—are not tools! I know that now!"

The marid launched another attack; Mandrake lured the blast into another window, but once again did not catch sight of the staff.

"I have witnessed what spirits and humans can accomplish, not alone, but together! You are not a slave! I know you do not want to hurt me!"

Another hollow smile played on Varian's lips. "Is that right? Can you read my aura, as I could read yours? You are an abomination, neither human nor demon! How can you claim to speak for either?" Its hand swished and yet another spell flew Mandrake's way. He dove out of the way and the blast shattered a third window.

"Do you still insist on standing against me?" the marid demanded, firing off a final Detonation. Mandrake stood and suffered the full impact of the attack—it exploded into a smoky haze.

Varian waited, hand steadying, and then gasped. The smoke cleared and revealed Mandrake, his aura alit brightly, with Gladstone's staff in hand.

"It doesn't matter whether or not I am human or demon," he said, raising the staff. "Regardless of what I have become, I will choose for myself."

Varian furiously made to throw a spell, but a white ray pierced through the marid, ripping through the woman's abdomen. Mandrake lowered the staff, watching silently as the woman fell onto a knee, attempting in vain to stand.

"It seems you have won," Varian sputtered, the female façade momentarily writhing. "You will get what you want after all."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Why apologize?" the marid asked softly. "I am not afraid to die."

"I can help you," Mandrake said, holding out a hand. "I can—"

"No," the woman stuttered, falling back. A bang stuck, as if matted in sweat, and the chest labored as if in need of air; the dark coat seemed to simmer and warble; the fiery hair dampened and darkened. "If you heal me I shall simply come at you again. It is my charge, and I have failed."

Mandrake hesitated and pulled his arm back. The marid propped itself up against the wall; the white of its eyes blackened and the skin paled. "I can feel myself disappearing. How strange." It looked up to the magician and frowned. "Why do you linger here still? Go on. They are waiting for you."

"No one is waiting for me," he replied quietly. "I don't think I will be able to return home." He met the marid's gaze.

"Foolish. Why come here if you have no hope?"

"I don't know. I must try." He grimaced. "Did she save you?"

"What?"

"The woman you mimic," he said. "Why do you take on that form?"

Varian smiled wanly. "Yes. She did save me." The woman's shape slumped. "Leave me be. Let me fade in peace."

Mandrake nodded slowly and departed, never turning back.

---

The gargoyle raised its head weakly to see the two children approaching it. Bartimaeus struggled to stand but fell back onto the dirt of the riverbank. One wing lay in tatters, the torso it was attached to split.

"Bartimaeus," Nathaniel murmured in shock, looking down over the djinni.

"It's quite the nice night we're having," it remarked with a dry chuckle. "Granted, I have certainly felt better. Oh, don't look at me like that. I've been through much worse, I assure you."

"I—I can dismiss you," Nathaniel said nervously.

"No, that's all right," Bartimaeus laughed. "You haven't summoned anything, let alone dismissed it. You'd probably botch the procedure and send only half of me along."

Nathaniel said nothing and sat beside the djinni limply. Kitty watched them, unsure of what to do. Behind her the dirt crunched, and she turned.

"Mandrake," she gasped. He smiled at her, covered in soot, Gladstone's staff at his side.

"I'm fine. Please, let me see him." She moved aside and he approached the wounded djinni, chuckling. "I've seen you in worse shape than this, Bartimaeus."

"Is that so?" the djinni asked. "It's too bad I don't recall our marvelous adventures, Mr. Mandrake."

"That's all right," Mandrake said softly, kneeling down and placing a hand gently on the hewed wing. "I only have one favor to ask of you, and afterwards I'll explain everything."

"And here I thought I would get off easy," grunted Bartimaeus, starting again as a soothing white light rolled over its form. Nathaniel and Kitty stared on, awestruck, as the wing miraculously healed and replenished itself. The other wounds scattered over its body vanished, as if they were never there.

"You healed him," Nathaniel said incredulously. "How did you—"

The gargoyle rose, morphing into the familiar form of Ptomely. "I felt safe," Bartimaeus said, itself stunned. "I felt as if I were back in the Other Place." It looked up into the young man's eyes. "You _have_ summoned me before. I couldn't tell before, but now I know for sure—Nathaniel."

Mandrake got to his feet, smiling. "It's time for me to go, Bartimaeus," he said. "Once I'm gone, he can dismiss you. He'll do fine."

"Wait," Nathaniel said, taking Mandrake's arm. "You can't just leave! I won't allow you to!"

"I have to," Mandrake replied calmly. "London will be safe for now, and I do not belong here." He gestured in the direction of the Tower. "They will be looking for me soon, and I can't afford to endanger any of you any longer."

"So now what?" Kitty blurted. "What happens now?"

"I don't know," said Mandrake. "It may be hard, but you'll be fine." He turned back to Nathaniel, who trained his eyes on the ground.

"You took everything I have," he said. "It's all gone."

"I wish I could make it up to you," Mandrake said, clasping the boy's shoulder, "but if I stay here, things will only get worse. It is only right that I take your burden with me. I'll make my amends, for your sake and mine."

Bartimaeus cleared its throat. "Well, now. Are you ready to go? What's your plan?"

"Yes," said Mandrake. "All I need you to do is take me up there." He pointed up high into the sky. "I'll re-enact that which brought me here—the destruction of this staff."

"But if you do that—" Nathaniel said. "You could die."

"I didn't before," Mandrake said, looking back at him, "and neither will any of you. If I'm high enough the blast won't touch the city."

Bartimaeus shrugged. "Whatever you say, as long as I get my ticket out of here."

"Of course," Mandrake said. "Nathaniel will see to it."

The djinni offered his hand. "Let's get on with it, then." Mandrake took his hand, and the two suddenly levitated. They rose up, gradually ascending higher into the air. Kitty and Nathaniel stared up at them, watching them slowly shrink away.

"No," Nathaniel whispered, his voice rising. "Please don't go. I have nothing left." Tears stung once again at his eyes. "Wait! John!" he yelled. "Don't leave me here! I—I want to go with you!"

The two blips only became smaller. The tears fully streamed down his face. "I don't want to stay in this place," he murmured, falling onto his hands and knees.

Kitty patted him lightly on the back. "Hey, it's—it's all right. It'll be okay."

She knelt down next to him and let him cry, each sob more wrenching than the last. They were alone, only the sounds of the Thames breaking the reigning, powerful silence. What had happened? What would happen now?

A boom brought them both to their feet. High above in the midst of the clouds a violent, white flash exploded outward, illuminating the sky, turning night into day for one brief moment. Nathaniel and Kitty looked on in wonder.

And just like that it was over.

**END CHAPTER TEN**


	11. Epilogue

A startled gasp in a small, dark room. The sheets drenched with sweat and sleeplessness.

"Nathaniel?"

---

He heard the crash of waves, far-off and distant. Soon accompanying that was a strong wind, blowing about above him. Aside from that, there was no other noise, no other telltale sign of where he was. He nudged a hand and grabbed at grass; it felt soft and passing under his touch.

"You certainly left things a mess." The djinni's words rang in his ears, the last words he heard in that place. "Although I guess the kid wouldn't have done much better."

He finally opened his eyes and forced himself to sit up. Green stretched on—green, lush fields. The sky was clear and white, soft, gentle; he looked up at it in curiosity. It was not a sky he knew.

The cliff before him overlooked the ocean. He caught a whiff of salt on the air and its unfamiliarity. He breathed it in deep, savoring it, how clean it was, how smooth. He closed his eyes and focused on that alien freshness, how powerful and vicious as it froze the tears on his cheeks.

He raised a hand and touched the wet with his fingertips, bringing it back to study it. He squinted, his eyes clouding. His hand dropped and he slouched over, crying fully now, just as the boy had done. Everything spilt out, the guilt, the resentment, the secret anger, almost as if the clearness surrounding him was purging his body clean.

Time passed and soon his tears dried out, leaving him breathless and tired. He clutched at the grass and then fell over onto his side. Now he truly was dead. He closed his eyes and rested.

The grass rustled behind him. Tenderly a hand landed on his shoulder and shook him. "Excuse me? Hey, are you all right?"

He opened his eyes and turned to the voice; standing above him was a young woman, fair-skinned, her summer dress bright with red, a straw basket hanging on her slim arm. Her dark hair was long and smooth, cradling around her neck. A mole decorated the side of her nose.

A relieved smile unconsciously touched on her lips. "Oh, you're awake. Are you all right?"

He only stared into her eyes, mouth slightly agape. She furrowed her brow. "Did you hear me? Hey—"

He reached up suddenly and gingerly caressed her cheek, studying not only her face but also his hand. Immediately a blush flooded her face and she slapped his hand away.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "I'm only trying to see if you're all right!"

"I'm—fine," he said, sitting up straight. "I just had to be sure that… you were real."

"Oh?" She sighed and flattened out her dress. "Are you satisfied?"

He nodded quietly and stood up, turning to the sea. She narrowed her eyes at him worriedly. "You're quite strange," she said. "What were you doing out here, anyway?"

"I was—" He shook his head. "I was putting it behind me."

"Putting _what_ behind you?"

He ignored her and glanced down at the basket, full of delicious red apples. "You were gathering fruit?" he asked.

She hoisted the basket up and frowned. "I always go and collect from Mr. Richard's orchard on they're ripe enough." Impulsively she reached down and snatched one up.

"You live nearby?"

"Of course," she answered, taking a bite from the fruit. "The village is just up over the hill. I was taking a little walk, and that's when I saw you lying there. I thought you were dead!"

He smiled at her. "I'm very much alive, I assure you." He gestured beyond her. "Do you—do you think you could take me to your village? I'm not exactly sure where I am."

"You're not sure where you are?" She frowned again. "Are you positive you're all right?"

"Of course, Kitty," he replied quickly, surprising them both.

"Kitty?" She simply stared at him in bewilderment. "No one—no one but my father and brother would call me that." She stepped toward him. "How did you—?"

"I knew a girl nicknamed Kitty once," he said. "You look very much like her. I just made a mistake." He touched his forehead awkwardly. "I'm not thinking very straight right now. I apologize."

He smiled. "But if that's true, am I right in assuming you're Kathleen?"

"Yes," she confirmed hesitantly. "Kathleen Burroughs." She held out a shaky hand. "And you are—?"

"My name is Nathaniel," he said, shaking her hand firmly.

"Nathaniel," she repeated, as if testing the name. "Well, it certainly is a strange pleasure to meet you, Nathaniel." She noticed his smile and motioned back. "We can go now. It's about time I was getting back, anyway."

"Alright." She turned and started off, but Nathaniel paused and glanced back over his shoulder toward the sea, as if saying goodbye.

...


End file.
